Chapter 1

Olivia

3 Weeks Ago

The others had believed her at first. And you couldn't say you blamed them. She was convincing. Frighteningly so. She had a way with words. A way to make people believe she was right, even when she knew herself in her heart she was not. It's what made her so damn good at her job. It's what made her so difficult to trust. It's what made it impossible to win an argument with her.

Her words ripped right through your own heart when you first heard them.

'I love him' said with conviction, passion, certainty. She said it simply, once. She said it as she looked each and every one of you straight in the eye. Without hesitation. Without reservation. Without so much as blinking.

Of course the world believed her.

Not you though. Not when you stopped to remember that she had said those exact words to you. Only weeks ago. 'I love you Olivia."

You remember the way she couldn't quite meet your eye at first, the way she was almost shy, so unlike the confident strong woman you knew her to be. You remember looking into her eyes seeing tears.

'What's wrong?' You had asked.

She shook her head. 'Nothing. Nothing at all, I just love you so much.'

Of course it occurred to you that she was just a fickle person. Maybe she said 'I love you' to everyone. Next week there would be someone else. Maybe she never meant it. Maybe she was just a damn good actress. Maybe she meant it in that one moment, only to have it fade into insignificance weeks later?

It was just that you'd never heard her say it before. About anyone. Ever. Until she said it to you. And only weeks later, to him.

Maybe it just meant more to you than it did to her? Maybe you were the foolish one. Giving yourself so completely? You gave consideration to these thoughts. Of course that was it. You doubted your own worth, how could she love you over him? It made sense she had found someone better than you. Something less complicated. Something straight. Someone who gave her more than you did, obviously. Someone who was worth it. Someone who knew how to love her and cherish her as you wish you knew how to do. Because you wanted to be everything she needed. If you only could, if you only knew how.

It wasn't so hard to believe she'd found someone better than you. But it still hurt. And you felt somehow ashamed. Ashamed that you let her in so deep, that she could hurt you so completely, when she seemed to be standing so untouched. Did you ever mean anything to her? Does she even remember you? Was it all inside your head?

You needed something from her. You could make peace with the fact you lost her. Barely. But you needed some kind of goodbye. Some kind of acknowledgement. You knew you should hang on to your last remaining shred of dignity, not give her the satisfaction of seeing how deeply she wounded you. But it was harder and harder to hold onto.

There was never a moment at work to talk to her, To pull her aside and say 'Hey did I ever mean anything to you?" You're scared anyway, that you don't really want to hear her answer. There used to be so many times at work that she would find to get you alone. Reasons to call you into her office. Reasons to take lunch at the same time. Now it seemed she was avoiding you. Going out of her way to make sure your paths never crossed. That hurt.

You felt cheated, she owed you more than this. And so you'd gone to her house. What did you want from her? You wanted her to tell you it was all a mistake, a joke. It was you, she did love you. You wanted it but you weren't counting on it. You remembered the first night you'd come to her house. After Sam Cavenaugh. Remember the night you'd spent with her. Remembered it as the closest you've ever felt to anyone. Remember her telling you in the morning she loved you. Was it just a comfort thing? You made her feel better until someone else came along? She needed you at the time, and when she was done she tossed you aside?

She didn't want the others to know about the two of you. You could see her point, things would get messy at work. But you also wanted to shout it from the roof tops. And it hurt more than a little that she seemed so willing to cover it up. To hide you away as if she were ashamed of you.

You'd been expecting her to tell you to go home, that you were drunk. You'd expected her to get defensive, throw you out. You hadn't expected, although you should have, to find him there.