After the crying session, I let Derek help me off the floor, bring me to the closest chair at my kitchen table, and settle me back in without a single complaint.
It’s quite odd having Derek here, treating me like I’m more than a friend and neighbor. He treats me a lot like a partner may. It’s preposterous, to say the least.
He continues cooking in my kitchen, running back to his apartment to get a few ingredients I don’t have and a bottle of wine.
I tell him I’m not in the mood, citing a fake migraine that is coming on. Although, with the way my body just burst at the seams, I won’t be surprised if I do end up with a migraine.
“You know, it may not look like it, but there are many people who’ve been in your shoes, Esme.”
Speaking is difficult, and my
