Wrong Number: My Sweetest Goodbye

za

food out of a takeout container and watching a mindless reality show. My

dropping his briefcase by the door. It

perfunctory "How' s the arm?" to which I hadn' t re

ng," I said, not loo

anged. He was holding a small, glossy gift bag from a high-en

watching me, his gaze intense, searching for a sign of gratitude, of forgi

eld that familiar, condescending pity he re

I said, my voice

ked. "

that brand. It'

e of her and Drake at the brand' s boutique, her holding up the exact same jar of cream, with the c

ickered back to the TV, where a woman was thro

rying to look at my a

the gift bag from the coffee table. The heavy glass jar inside hit the hardwood floor w

w clenching. "Are you serious, Eliza? You' re

" I said simply.

ing me the silent treatment. How old are you, twelve? It' s pathetic.

r throat raw with unshed sobs. The new Eliza felt a strange sen

u want, Drake," I

ntainers, and threw them in the trash. I walk

anger. This was not going according t

Ou

he demanded, bl

I lied, pulling m

his face, his expression a mixture of fury and utter bewilderment. He couldn' t comprehend a w

about t