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“Penelope, you look beautiful! You don’t need to help me, go make yourself comfortable,” she says. “Actually, Brent mentioned to me last night when I talked to him that you wanted to use the computer to email your friend. Why don’t you go do that now before this is all ready.”
“That would be amazing. Are you sure you don’t need help? I won’t be long.”
“Take your time sweetheart, I’ve got this.”
As I enter the office, I’m taken aback at how cozy the room is. There’s floor to ceiling bookcases that hold all kinds of paperbacks and hardcover books, a rustic fireplace with a gorgeous mantle, and a large mahogany desk sitting by the window.
In the corner is a huge Christmas tree completely decorated with homemade ornaments and white lights, creating a soft glow in the room.
Making my way over to the desk, I sit down in the leather chair and swivel around to face the computer. It lights up when I move the mouse. I hesitate, not sure if I should really open myself up to this or if it’s better to stay in ignorant bliss.
To be honest, I used to laugh when people said they hated social media. But since I’ve been here in Winterberry, I haven’t missed living on Instagram at all.
Well, time to rip the Band-Aid off.
I open Google, take a deep breath, and type in my name. The number of articles that come up when I hit enter makes my head spin.
“Has Penelope Maxwell Left Town?”
“Where Has Penelope Maxwell Gone?”
“When Will Penelope Maxwell Post on Instagram?”
I can’t believe the amount of articles there are talking about me skipping town. The paparazzi must be looking for me, dying to get the first photo of me. No one here in Winterberry knows my real name, and now, Ireallydon’t want them to know. I want to stay in this bliss as long as I possibly can, even though I know it won’t last forever.
I take a few minutes to scroll through the articles, clicking on a few. They all incorrectly speculate my whereabouts.
Leaning back in the chair, I open a new tab in the browser and log into my Instagram account.
Wow.
I havethousandsof messages and even more notifications. This would take me days to get through. Clicking on my messages, I notice most people are asking where I am or if I’m okay. Scrolling down, my heart jumps when I spot Drew’s name.
I click the thread. Dozens of new messages pop up. All sent after news of his affair broke.
They start out calm and worried, but quickly morph into anger. He’s practically yelling at me, accusing me of embarrassing him.
Wait a second…
I’membarrassinghim?
You’ve got to be kidding me.
How dare he say anything to me other than an apology for what he’s done and the pain he’s caused me?
My blood boils and my face heats. I block him before he can contact me again. I’m so glad I never have to look that man in the face again.
I’m so mad I can’t see straight. I need to take a walk and cool down, but I don’t want to leave until I reach out to Georgia and let her know I’m okay. It’s been days. Surely my best friend is worried about me.
Walking over to the window, I breathe deep into my stomach and try to calm my nerves. I didn’t think I’d ever have this type of reaction to the man who I thought would be my husband.
I can’t believe I wasted time on him. What an idiot. The worst part is that I was getting ready to marry him. I was truly planning to spend the rest of my life with him.
Meanwhile he was cheating on me and making me look like a fool.
All those years wasted.
But you can’t go back in time, right? It’s time to put my big girl panties on and face it head on. At least I can choose pretty lace panties.
