From one of my Kindle/e-reader only novels. A full-length novel for just $2.99.
CHAPTER THREE
“What’s wrong, CM? You’re white as a sheet.”
“Um, I’ll tell you tomorrow. I gotta go. I—I’ll tell you tomorrow, Char.”
Char Benchford stared after her co-worker and friend. “He broke up with her,” she said to herself. “Oh no.”
It was a beautiful day except for the storm inside CM’s heart. She walked briskly down the street and past the coffee shop where she’d lost that fateful double mocha on Matt’s expensive shoes. The tears came in torrents—the dam had clearly burst. She needed to get to her car and get out of the city. She did an about face and went back the way she’d come to the basement parking garage to retrieve her car. She was trying desperately not to sob out loud, but she noticed even in the indifferent crowd on 4th Avenue, a few faces looked at her with something that resembled concern. Finally she arrived at her faithful cherry red Toyota Camry and got inside, grateful for the tinted windows. Without intending to, she broke down completely and held her face in her hands. She turned around in her seat and searched the back floor for her box of Kleenex, grabbing a handful and relocating the box to the passenger seat.
“Why am I crying? Isn’t this what I wanted?” she cried out loud. “I hate myself!” she shouted. “I do.” She sobbed until she had no more tears. She blew her nose several times and started her car. Going for a drive was not an option. She went home instead.
Walking into her small house had the exact opposite effect of normal. Usually, every time she came in the door, even if only for a brief moment, she loved this little old house with the tiny yard and white picket fence nestled under an old oak and surrounded by some young evergreens, her private hideaway and hers alone. It was totally up to her if she cared to invite anyone over as her guest. But right now at this defining moment, the house felt cold and empty with no chance of change in sight. And although she thought she’d cried all the tears one body could possibly manufacture, she started weeping all over again. The price of her independence: she was alone.
Father, you know the stories long before I do. Thank you for each inspiration, character, and the determination to write them. Apart from you, I can do nothing. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.