I awoke on the couch with a headache an hour before my alarm, the armrest pushing into my skull through the thin pillow. I was alone when the panic attack happened, but I felt humiliated. Just thinking about it made me cringe. And the idea of having to see Randy again made my stomach churn – more because of my own embarrassment for letting him strike just the right nerve than anything else. I tossed and turned on the couch for some time, groaning, wishing time would slow down. I didn’t want to see anyone but I knew sitting alone, stewing in my own thoughts, would probably only make things worse.

I allowed the muscle memory of routine to put me on autopilot – coffee, smoke, toast, shower, makeup.

Randy was right. Something was missing. But he wasn’t it. There was n...

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