Clare ordered a lemon cheesecake and another coffee. She didn’t want to appear a glutton and had considered moving to another cafe, but her legs weren’t working properly so she suffered the shame. It was nothing compared to the shame of what she had done, handing Sarah to Firdy.
The cheesecake arrived, a pristine wedge, glistening. A little fork. A napkin. She stuck the fork into the cake and split it in two. Today was officially the worst day of her life.
She didn’t know how she would live with what she had done, but she knew that she would. The prospect was awful but true.
She imagined that the cheesecake was a cliff and that the shiny, white plate was oblivion. She imagined herself stepping off the edge, not jumping, but hitting the rocks on the way down, dead before she hit the bottom. She knew she wasn't going to kill herself though; she had given up Sarah to protect herself and her own family. If she was going to kill herself, she would have done it this morning. It was too late to do any good now.
So she’d live. She’d go home and cry and start cutting. In the morning, she’d disinfect her incisions, eat Golden Grahams and watch Jeremy Kyle.
Then maybe more cutting.
Just another day.