a moment with my hands on the steering wheel. My entire body felt as if it weighed a million pounds. I just wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
A soft knock on the window drew my attention over. I could see Shari peeking in at me with a smile and a small wave.
I gave her a look that I hoped told her to go away, but she didn’t seem interested in listening to me. Instead, she motioned for me to roll down the window. I sighed and started the car. Then I pressed on the window switch and waited.
“You okay?” Shari asked once the window was halfway down.
“I’m great. Why?”
She furrowed her brow, and I silently shushed myself. I didn’t need to snap at her. She was just trying to help. But I felt like I would reach my breaking point any minute now. Even though I hated how I was treating my friends, I was exhausted.
“You just seem tense.” Shari met my gaze. “Anything I can help with?”
Maybe a magic genie that could make me mayor and cause my parents to disappear. But I doubted she would enjoy my sarcasm, so I just forced my politician smile and shook my head.
“Nope. I’m good.”
Shari didn’t look like she believed me, but thankfully, she didn’t say anything more. Instead, she just sighed and backed up from my car. I gave her a salute, and just as I started to pull out of the parking spot, she called out, “You can always reach out to me if you need anything.”
Her words tugged at my heart. There was a certain camaraderie that came from the women in Magnolia. Despite not always speaking or spending time with each other, we were always there for one another. That was what being a small town was all about.
But I hated the fact that they were acting this way toward me. I was the strong one. I was the mayor. I had the education and the experience. I wasn’t supposed to be one who didn't have her life figured out. I was supposed to be the one helping other people figure out their future.
I hated that even though I wasn’t the broken one, I felt like I was.
With every moment that ticked by, I was breaking more and more.
When I got home, I snuck into the kitchen and up to my room. I wasn’t ready to face anyone right now. Not when I felt this way. Not when I was this unhappy.
Once I was behind my closed door, I let out the breath I’d been holding. I wished I could say that my stress went with my exhaled breath, but it didn’t. It stayed sandwiched between my shoulder blades, desperate to never let go.
I scrubbed my face as I padded over to my bathroom and started the shower. Steam and hot water seemed like the antidote to my pain—the pain that came from trying to meet everyone’s expectations but realizing that, even after all you tried to do, you could never be enough.
I was beginning to think I was never going to be enough.
No matter how much I wished that weren’t true, the reality of my situation was weighing down on me and making it impossible for me to feel happy. I was getting to the point that I wasn’t even sure what happiness felt like anymore.
I cried silently while I stood in the shower, letting the water beat down on my face and shoulders. The water mixed with my tears, and while I stood here, I could pretend that I wasn’t crying, that I didn’t feel broken.
But I knew the truth.
And that truth scared me.
If I faced it, did that mean I was accepting defeat? If I admitted to myself that I just might not be enough for anyone, where did that leave me?
Reality washed over me as I flipped off the shower. After I wrapped my wet, dripping hair up into a towel and wrapped another around my body, I stepped out of the shower and onto my plush bath mat.
Steam clouded the mirror, and the only thing I could see was a fuzzy version of myself. As I stared at my outline, I knew the truth of what I didn’t want to admit.
It was one small word that had me feeling terrified.
Alone.
That’s where admitting my faults got me. Alone with nothing to distract me from my pain.
And that was a fate that was worse than death. At least for me.
If I wanted to