Instead, she picked up an empty glass from the table next to her and threw it at the door with such force that it exploded into a dust cloud of glass. The crash succinctly made the exact statement that, when spoken, was strangely lacking somehow: "Get the fuck away from me and don't come back."

Deanna sighed and sank into a chair by the table. She knew this had been coming, and yet it was as shocking and disappointing as not winning the lottery. Intellectually and outwardly, one knows they won't win, but secretly they're surprised and disappointed when their numbers don't come up.

Common sense told her that this relationship wouldn't work out. Deep inside, she knew it wouldn't. Nevertheless, she'd held on, some part of her certain that Tristan would grow up, be reasonable, and see how he loved her, deep inside. That he would see she was healthy, happy, and stable, that she was ready for a relationship, and that she loved him more than anyone else ever could. She was sure eventually he'd see that Emily was still so young and still had so much growing to do, and he'd realize Deanna was right here, right now, ready and better for him.

Deanna stared at the wall for a while longer before deciding that she had to get out of the apartment. She needed to be around people, but not around people she knew.