“Manipulate you?” I cut in, genuine shock in my voice. “Is that what you think of me now? A manipulator?”
“It’s over between us, Rowan,” Janet said firmly. “Isn’t this want you wanted all this time ?. I’ll make sure she gets a nice gift,
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),
and that’s all. You’re my ex–husband now. Or you will be very soon. So Goodbye.”
Just like that, The line went dead.
I stared at the phone in disbelief. She hung up on me. I’m still yet to understand where she gets the nerves to pull all this
heat.
“Damn it!” I shouted, hurling my phone at the wall with all my strength. It shattered, pieces of black plastic and glass scattering across the floor.
“Rowan?” a soft voice said from the doorway.
I spun
around to see Flora standing there, her eyes wide with concern. I hadn’t even heard her come in.
“Are you okay?” she asked, stepping cautiously into my study. Her blonde hair was perfectly styled as always, her makeup flawless. But there was something strained about her face today.
“I’m fine,” I snapped, turning away to pour another drink. “What are you doing here, Flora?”
She moved closer, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. “I was worried about you. No one’s heard from you after what happened with Claire.” She paused, glancing at the broken phone on the floor. “Was that… was that Janet on the phone?”
I took a long drink, letting the whiskey burn away some of my anger. “I’m fine Flora you shouldn’t worry much about me.”
Flora’s face softened with what looked like sympathy, but something about it felt wrong. Too practiced. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. This must be so hard for you.”
I just grunted, not wanting to discuss it with her.
“I’ve been feeling so lost myself lately,” Flora continued, her voice dropping to a softer, more vulnerable tone. “Ever since
Jared died, it’s like I can’t find my place in the world. Some days I can barely get out of bed.” She looked up at me with big,
sad eyes. “I was hoping I could stay here with you today. Just for a little while. I don’t want to be alone.”
I stared at her, suddenly remembering the last time she’d tried this–showing up at our house, crying to Janet about feeling emotionally unstable. Janet had been firm but kind, suggesting she see a therapist instead of leaning on us all the time.
“I’m busy today, Flora,” I said, not unkindly but firmly.
“Please, Rowan,” she stepped closer, laying a hand on my arm. “I just need someone to talk to. Someone who understands me.”
I moved away, putting some distance between us. “I think what you need is professional help, Flora. Not me.”
Her expression changed, just for a moment–a flash of something hard and angry before the mask of vulnerability slipped
back into place. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you should see a therapist,” I said bluntly. “A counselor. Someone trained to help with grief and… whatever else
you’re dealing with.”
Flora’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “I don’t need a stranger telling me how to feel.”
“Maybe not,” I shrugged, “but I’m not the right person for this either.”
I picked up my second phone from the desk and dialed Alex’s number. He answered on the second ring.
“Sir?”
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“Alex, I need you to bring me a new phone when you come to the house. My current one is…” I glanced at the pieces scattered across the floor, “…out of service.”
“Of course, sir,” Alex replied. “Is everything okay? Are you-”
“And arrange for a therapist for Flora,” I cut him off. “A good one. Someone who specializes in grief counseling.”
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“A therapist for Ms. Flora? I can do that, but what happened to your-”
“You’re my assistant, Alex, not my father,” I snapped. “Just do as I ask.”
I hung up, suddenly tired. The anger that had been fueling me was fading, leaving behind a hollow ache in my chest.
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