Chapter 7: You Don’t Love Me
The words, “You don’t love me,” fell like pebbles into still water, creating ripples of quiet impact and astonishment that spread across the room. Her eyes widened momentarily, but she quickly composed herself, a smile playing on her lips. “That’s huge. Congratulations, Mr. Lynn. I wish you and your fiancée all the best.”
Jonathan remained silent, his mouth a thin line. The interview concluded, Teresa stood and offered her hand. “Thanks for coming in today, Mr. Lynn.” He shook her hand, his gaze averted, then departed.
Back in her office, Teresa found herself dwelling on his engagement. Wayne’s frustration was palpable. “Come on, Teresa! You should have pressed him, found out who his fiancée is. That’s the kind of scoop we’re after.”
Teresa, however, was lost in thought, the revelation swirling in her mind. She scoffed inwardly, Bet his fiancée is his ex, the girl of his dreams.
A coworker exclaimed, “Did you see? The CEO of Horizonlead Group is totally hot and tall—six-three, for sure!” Another gushed, “He’s the kind of guy who could make any girl feel protected.” “Totally,” a third chimed in. “But he’s engaged, to a beauty queen! It’s like a fairy tale.”
The office buzzed about the CEO, a conversation Teresa usually would have dominated, but today she was lost in her own world. Her coworker had to call her name twice to regain her attention. “Teresa, time to go,” she said. Teresa surfaced from her reverie, nodded, and slowly gathered her belongings.
The reality of her lost chances with Jonathan, and her inability to discuss her son’s issues with him, settled heavily upon her. Michael was battling a lingering cold, and Teresa was at the hospital collecting his medication.
The cashier announced, “That’ll be $130.” Teresa, already reaching for her phone, replied, “I’ll pay with PayPal.” A payment notification buzzed on her phone, and she checked her nearly depleted bank balance. A sigh escaped her lips; the reality of parenting, and the seemingly endless drain on her finances, hit her hard. Her car was also on fumes.
At the gas station, a difficult choice presented itself. Her car needed 95 octane, but her budget forced her to choose the cheaper 92. “Ma’am, are you sure? Your car needs 95,” the attendant warned. Teresa, feeling embarrassed, replied, “Yes, 92 is fine. It’ll be okay.” The attendant gave a noncommittal nod.
After refueling, Teresa started the engine, ready to navigate rush hour. The car began to rumble ominously, and a strong, oily smell filled the interior. Sensing trouble, she pulled over and attempted to restart the car. The rumble persisted, intensified by a pungent oily odor. Her heart sank; her day was going from bad to worse. The car was definitely broken down. Is there any more bad luck in store for me today? she wondered.
Engaging in a one-sided conversation with her car, she whispered, “Easy, buddy. Economy mode today, on a budget. No worries about the 92 octane, okay?” Spotting headlights, she saw a lifeline, waving her arms to signal for help.
Her hope was short-lived. The driver, impeccably suited and confident, was all too familiar. Her smile vanished upon recognizing Jonathan.
He approached with a casual swagger, hands in his pockets. “Looks like you need some help,” he said, his tone light, his gaze serious. Teresa’s lips tightened. “I’ve got it under control,” she insisted, sounding more confident than she felt.
Jonathan’s eyes assessed her car, his eyebrow arched. “Car trouble?” With a nonchalant shrug, Teresa claimed she was just getting some fresh air. Her Porsche, however, had other plans, its engine growling the moment she spoke.
Jonathan’s laughter lacked humor as he motioned her back. “Move over,” he instructed. Teresa watched as his clean hands plunged into the engine, quickly becoming coated in oil. With a resounding slam, he shut the hood, his expression grave. “Teresa,” he called, his voice sharp.
She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“How did you let this happen? Your car’s engine is a wreck. Do you even maintain it?” His words were laced with skepticism and a hint of reprimand.
Guilt tugged at Teresa, but she wouldn’t admit to skimping on gas. “I’ve been putting off the service for over two years,” she admitted, partially truthful.
Jonathan’s brow furrowed with worry and disapproval. “Teresa, you’ve neglected this car since we split. I used to handle the upkeep, but now it’s all on you,” he remarked, a subtle chiding in his tone.
Teresa’s fingers twitched. “I’m well aware, Jonathan.” It wasn’t neglect; it was the relentless struggle between work and motherhood that left her breathless. A child's cold would always supersede any other task. Motherhood was exhausting. She’d already sold two cars; this was her last.
Jonathan noted the dejection on her face. With a furrowed brow, he stated firmly, “Looks like you’re riding with me. Yours is out of commission. I’ll call a tow truck.”
Teresa sighed, a sound of surrender, and silently slid into Jonathan’s car. As they drove, she leaned her forehead against her wrist, a forlorn gaze fixed on her abandoned car, hazard lights flashing. Her companion of five years was left behind.
With a curious sidelong glance, Jonathan asked, “Rosary Estates is quite a detour from Riverbuss Road. Why were you there?”
Avoiding his eyes, Teresa said softly, “I had a cold and needed the hospital.”
Jonathan’s concern was evident. “A cold?” he echoed, worried.
Teresa tried to appear nonchalant. “Drop me off nearby. I’ll walk,” she said, her voice betraying her awkwardness.
The intermittent streetlight cast a flickering yellow glow on Jonathan’s face. He surprised her by gently wiping her cheek, causing her to flinch. “No need to be so jumpy,” he teased. “You had a smudge.”
Teresa straightened, cautious. “Just thinking about your fiancée. Wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea.”
His silence was heavy. Passing a pharmacy, he stopped the car, quickly returning with a bag for Teresa. “It’s getting cold. Stay warm. You’re always catching colds.”
The bag held familiar medications, a heating pad, and a thermometer—reminders of their shared past.
Teresa’s words were laced with resentment. “You’re still seeing other people, even with Yvonne?”
Jonathan’s surprise was evident. “Yvonne?”
Teresa, determined, continued, “That’s her name, isn’t it? Your ex, now your wife-to-be. That’s the plan, right?”
Speaking Yvonne’s name stirred up emotions for Teresa; the woman had played a significant role in her marriage’s demise. Yvonne’s frequent depressive episodes had often justified her unacceptable behavior.
Jonathan avoided her points, his gaze searching. “Aren’t you even slightly jealous, Teresa?”
Teresa smirked, a frown mixed in. “Jealous? Why would I be?”
Jonathan’s hand clenched, his voice strained. “Right. You don’t love me, not anymore.”
Silence fell, a profound understanding enveloping them. The weight of the past hung heavy. Love was insignificant now. Reconciliation was impossible.
Pulling up to Rosary Estates, the car stopped. Teresa quickly reached for the door handle, her eagerness to escape palpable.
Jonathan, observing her haste, let out a deep breath. “Take care of yourself. We’re done. I won’t be around to look after you anymore.”
Teresa offered a solemn nod, her tone a blend of resignation and affection. “You too, Jonathan. I hope things work out with your fiancée.” She stepped out, her eyes straight ahead.
The scene mirrored the day they’d left the courthouse, each moving forward without looking back.
Teresa tiptoed into her home, the quiet broken only by Michael’s gentle snores. Guilt pricked her for leaving him alone, but with limited funds, a babysitter wasn't an option. She shook her head, wondering how things had become so difficult.
Bending over Michael’s bed, she smoothed his hair. “I’m sorry I don’t make much money, buddy,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. His features mirrored his father’s, a man Teresa was determined to keep out of their lives.
He was moving on, starting a new family, and she was determined to keep Michael from being caught in the crossfire. She would be his rock. “Sweet dreams, my angel,” she murmured, kissing his forehead.
Her towed car was gone, leaving her without transportation. With unfamiliar feelings, Teresa headed to the subway for her first commute to work.
The journey was quiet, filled with memories of a life once luxurious, now a distant dream. She used to zip around in a top-of-the-line car, enjoying the good life. But reality was harsh; she’d always known she’d be alone, especially after her parents remarried. Following their remarriages, she felt like an unwanted outsider, excess baggage. As an adult, she resolved to forge her own path, launch her own venture.
At work, a property fee notification appeared on her phone. The upcoming heating bill added to her financial woes. Her account balance had dwindled to a thousand dollars.
The office buzzed with the news, “Teresa, payday!” But instead of joy, Teresa felt a sinking feeling at her reduced paycheck—$2,500, down from $2,800.
Sherry, pragmatic as ever, patted Teresa’s arm. “You’ve missed days and been late. That hit your attendance bonus,” she explained.
Teresa blushed, thinking of Michael, too young for daycare, too much for a nanny. She couldn’t rely on her friend for childcare. Working three days, taking four off, was becoming unsustainable.
She’d reached a breaking point. Her paycheck barely covered her needs, let alone Michael’s. It was time for a change. The idea of starting her own business began to take root.
As the workday ended, Teresa hesitated, then dialed a number unused for ages. “Hey, Mommy,” she said, her voice cracking.
“Teresa?” her mother, Evelyn, answered, surprise evident. Teresa’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Mommy, I’m wondering—” Her words were cut short by a child’s wail in the background.