I don't have the energy for this. Between last night and today, I'm out of fuel to pretend like I give a s**t anymore. I refuse to perpetuate a sham of happiness in my own home. I have no idea why Moby came back here, but if it's to rub my nose in how content he is, I wish he would've saved it for another day.
Collapsing on the couch, I stuff my hands in my hoodie pockets, finding the little memento someone so graciously sent me. I haven't had time to really study it, but from the quick peeks I've taken, it's stunning. I rub my thumb over the inscription using it to soothe my weary soul.
I watch in awe as Moby strolls across the room, not a single sign of the stroke visible. Whatever he's been doing for the last five weeks worked. He looks fantastic, and his confidence is soaring once a
