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e out? How had she failed to notice its passing? Always good at details, Emily was mortified to realize she missed much these last nine years. Her career seemed to take off when she went to work for Stone and Watterman. Eddie’s stayed stagnant.
    Eddie used to joke about his wife making more money than him to his cronies and the neighbor guys at barbeques. Emily never cared. They were in this together; she thought then, and still had, until the day he died peacefully in their home.
    To know she’d been in this alone for some time was enough to make her seethe suddenly. Always frugal except when it came to buying quality underwear, Emily was appalled at how she skimped over the years. When had she ever done anything for herself? Ouch! It hurt to see how much of a fool she’d been. She burned all over to know the secrets Eddie kept from her.
    “We have to go pick out color swatches .” Joan interrupted her thoughts, pouring more wine. “We’ll get this place back into shape in no time.”
    Emily stared at Joan, realizing she meant to help. “You have enough to do, Joanie. I think I can slap on some paint. You’re really too good to me.”
    “No, I’ve seen you paint before, Em. This is definitely my area.”
    Emily smiled, knowing Joan was right. She had no skills at painting. While in high school, she painted her bedroom purple, and everything in it, before it was over. No, painting was not one of her talents. She was disgusted to question what her talents were suddenly.
    Later on, after Joan left , Emily drank another glass of white wine. She stewed over the day’s revelations in her think tank. The bath tub was the only place she ever felt at peace. It was a quirk of hers. Bubble baths seemed to be the quick-fix for everything. She would stay in the bathtub and solve all the world’s problems.
    Usually a bubble bath helped ease her tension and anxiety. Not tonight. Tonight she was burning; ready to implode. Her life was a total joke. The letter discovered hidden in a shoe box at the back of Eddie’s closet was the punch line.
    ~ ~ ~
    Emily ignored the obvious looks of surprise when she entered the posh, elegant office. The muted, neutral tones of the interior offset the elegantly-dressed people she passed when she cleared the elevator.
    On the fourth floor, The Stone and Watterman Agency was one huge room filled with cubicles, surrounded by offices for the higher executives. Huge potted plants lined the entry-way. The buzz of phones and computers greeted her entrance.
    The pasted, falsely-sincere smiles she met and acknowledged screamed fat-ass as she made her way to her office in the back of the room. She felt more confident in the elegant, navy blue suit that fit her. She realized her coworkers were quite aware of her obvious weight-gain and mocked her for it behind her back. Women could be so cruel to one another. Was it any surprise men treated them so badly at times? She thought not. She avoided their pitying looks.
    Emily ignored them, opening the door to her small office, glad to escape the whispers behind her back. It was seven forty-five; Monday morning. She was early, wanting to get her sea legs back before Evan stormed the building at eight-thirty sharp.
    Emily closed the door and leaned against it, glad the blinds were shut. The embarrassment over her appearance aside ; she wasn’t ready for this. When had she ever learned to say no? Why did she give in to Evan? She began to panic then, grateful she sprang for a Starbuck’s coffee. She set down her purse and looked around.
    Her office looked the same . Small, cramped, and needing a new computer. She frowned at the withered cactus plant in the purple, chipped planter on the file cabinet behind her desk. It died in the six months since she’d last been at work. When does a cactus ever die? Tears blinded her to think she couldn’t even keep a cactus alive. She felt her breathing growing erratic, fearing a panic attack at any moment. Panic attacks