Today marks the two week anniversary of my mother's death. It still feels so surreal. I'll have moments when things actually feel normal. I'll head to my workshop and chisel away at a piece of wood as if everything is right with the world, and then suddenly I'll have a brief flash from a moment when my mom commented on how scrunched and weird my face would get when I worked so diligently, and suddenly realization would come crashing down.

It'll catch me like a massive glove snatching a baseball. One minute I'm sailing through life—unstoppable—and the next I'm being pulverized by the truth. That's how it feels in my chest every time I remember. My breath catches, and suddenly I'm biting my lip to keep myself from experiencing those headache-inducing sobs that I've grown accustomed to.

I no longer try to predict my future. I no longer care where my life will be in one or two years. The only thing that I can focus on without sinking into a bout of anxiety is today. Today is all that matters. If I can get through today, then that's the only success I need at the moment.

While I sort of assumed Seth would be keeping his distance through the mourning period, he's barely left my side. I don't know how he's getting away with skipping out on work, but my only guess is that he's using his sick days or his boss is just an incredibly understanding fellow. Either way, I won't lie... I'm not at all complaining about Seth hanging around. Though, his questions are growing tiresome.

"Do you need a drink?"

"Do you need a blanket?"

"Can I get you something to eat?"

"How are you feeling?"

"How can I help?"

While it's annoying, it's impossible to not see how sweet of a gesture it is. Seth is actually acting as if he cares... about me? And, to be honest, I'm starting to believe it's the truth. After discovering who Tracy was and seeing that their relationship did appear to be business only, I've been feeling a bigger sense of peace in our marriage. I don't feel like I'm trying to hold things together with slippery fingers. Instead, I almost feel as if Seth and I are a team. We aren't fighting, we aren't bitter, and we're talking... no matter how small our talk is, I consider it to be improvement.

And yet, things still aren't where they should be. And I know the problem. The problem is me. I've lost all care for anything other than surviving. My marriage has been put on hold in hopes of letting my heart heal without any distractions. Once I pull through this tragedy with my mother, I think I'll be able to put all effort into snagging Seth again. But, right now, I just don't care what happens.

I know it's a horrible way of thinking. I know that by acting this way it might just make everything worse, but I can't bring myself to bother working at it. My broken heart doesn't have enough energy for Seth right now. I've consciously put him on the back-burner, and my only hope is that he'll sit back there long enough for me to come around and realize my stupidity... Only, I've already realized it. I just don't care about it.

I'm staring at a blank piece of wood, trying to come up with something clever to do with it, but my inspiration must have been buried beside my mom. I just have nothing. I feel empty and useless. It's at this moment of lowness that my phone starts to ring. I glance at the number, half hoping it'll be Steve telling me that our client has backed out and I'm free to spend my evening crying my eyes out in the solitude of my bathroom.

Well, it's not Steve... It's Emma.

Gosh, I love the girl, but if she doesn't stop calling me, I might have to block her number. I know she's had plenty of experience with heartache, and she thinks it'd be healthy for me to talk to someone about my feelings, but I don't feel like it. I'm happy to just sit here and feel sorry for myself for just a few more years.

I just want people to leave me alone... forever. That's all I ask.

I refuse the call and then fling the device on my worktable. Before I can even grasp why, I'm suddenly crying again. It must be the stress of life and knowing that I have to go through it without my mom now. The realization hits me at random moments for no reason at all, but when it does hit, it hits hard.

I sniff a couple of times, wiping my fingers under my eyes as I take in a calming breath. That's when a voice to my left speaks up, startling at least two years off my life.

"I figured you were ignoring my calls."

I glance up, my heart tripping over itself as it works to regain its rhythm. The moment my eyes land on Emma's, a chuckle begins hiccuping its way out of my throat. I stand clutching my heart as Emma snickers at my state.

"You did that on purpose," I growl, still fighting to hold back my laughter.

"Of course," she confesses. "You've always been the funnest person to surprise."

"I take it you didn't see my total meltdown like two seconds ago," I say. "There's no way my good friend would find this to be an appropriate time for goofing off."

"Oh no," she answers, a sly grin on her face. "I definitely saw. I just didn't care." She takes a few steps closer, one brow lifting mischievously. "A friend of mine once told me that she didn't feel that my imagination was a very healthy place to be. So," she shrugs innocently, "I'm here to tell that friend that I don't think it's healthy for her to be alone with herself."

I smile at the memory. College was definitely a sweet few years. Life was so carefree and easy. I remember never having any worries. I did what I wanted. I wore what I wanted. I said what I wanted. Nobody could touch me in college... and then, somewhere along the way, I broke. I transformed into this girl who was struggling to find herself. I morphed into a shadow of who I once was, only, this shadow lacked uniqueness and spunk. I was dull now. Empty. Boring. Blah.

Do I even know who I am anymore?

"I refuse to be blah," I suddenly say, causing Emma to freeze and gape at me in confusion.

"Say what?"

"You remember how awesome I was in college?" I ask, my mind still stuck back in the better days.

"No."

I ignore Emma's stupid response, allowing my thoughts to venture back into the past for a few precious seconds.

I'm recalling how nothing angered me. Nothing dampened my mood. Nothing surprised me. I was willing to do anything for the sake of a new experience. I was willing to embarrass myself just to create a memory. I was willing to focus more on enjoying life than preventing damage to it. Now, it seems that the moment I start putting too much emphasis on protecting myself, the more disaster there is. I guess that just goes to show how little control I have over my circumstances.

"Do you think I've changed since then?" I inquire, almost desperate for her to answer with another 'no', but she doesn't. Instead, she just glances at me with eyes of pity and nods.

"Yeah." Her response is soft, almost timid, and this just makes it that much more powerful. The fact that she's trying to spare my feelings by softening her words just solidifies the truth. I've definitely changed.

"That's not acceptable," I tell her, suddenly irritated by my circumstances.

First Seth, now my mom. It's like everyone is trying to make me break. Maybe it's because I've put on some stupid layer of armor. Maybe I need all this tragedy in order to break through my own shield and step out as my real self. Have I been hiding who I really am in hopes of protecting myself? Was I so worried that life would taint me, that I actually barricaded myself inside of my own mental prison? It seems preposterous, and yet, I can't help but wonder.

"Well," Emma begins to say, her words tentative. "I was going to ask how you're doing, but it's clear now." She puckers her lips and frowns at me. "You're not doing well."

"You got that right," I say, not afraid to be honest. Honesty used to be my specialty. Now my first task in bringing Mercy back to life is to start by being honest. "I'm miserable."

I can see that my words have surprised Emma, but I don't stop. This is what I need. This is the first step. I'm creating cracks in my shield and with time, I will destroy myself... in the best way possible.

"My mom is dead," I tell Emma, as if she's not already aware. "My mom is gone and I have no idea how to handle that. She was my best friend. She was the only person who really got me. She's the only one who could handle me for longer than five hours at a time. Who will I go to when I need encouragement now. Who will I go to when I need a massive snuggly hug—"

"You hate hugs."

"Shut up," I say, staring down at my feet as a faint smile slides into my expression. "Who will I go to when I need someone to love me and hold me and tell me that everything will work out just the way it's supposed to?" I sigh between my lips, causing them to vibrate together as exhaustion leaves my body.

"Well, if you're asking me..." Emma begins to say. "Those all sound like a job that was specifically designed for a husband. I'm sure he wouldn't mind doing any one of those things."

"Yeah, right," I spit, rolling my eyes in exasperation.

"Uh oh."

"Uh oh is right," I say, rolling my head on my shoulders before glancing at my friend beside me. "We're a mess. Seth and I are a mess."

"Since when?" Her face is a perfect depiction of surprise. I guess I should consider it a good thing that she couldn't tell. That had been my whole plan all along, right? Fix us before anyone knew there was ever a problem. And now here I am wrecking that plan.

"Slowly, over the course of almost a year," I say, dropping my gaze to the floor. "It's my fault too. I neglected him for my job. I didn't even realize I was doing it. I just got so absorbed in success and I loved what I was doing. He always seemed so supportive too. There was no way for me to know that I was distancing myself from him until things got bad."

"Do you still love him?" she asks after a few moments of reading my facial expressions.

"Oh gosh," I moan. "I love him more than I love meat!"

"Well, then," she says, one eyebrow lifting slightly. I know that look. It's the look that tells me she's about to bestow some great wisdom upon me...

"Tell him."

Well, that wasn't helpful.

"I already did."

"Uh oh," she says again, her eyes wide and worried. "That sounds like an interesting story—"

"That I'm not going to share right now," I cut in, not in the mood to bring up the moment my husband couldn't say 'I love you' back.

"Fine," she huffs, shrugging in a way that indicates she doesn't care as much as I know she really does. "Then show him."

I laugh, loudly.

"Yeah, right," I mutter. "As if I haven't tried that one before."

"Really?" Emma says, one brow lifted in doubt. "How'd you show him?"

"Well," I say, leaning my back against my work table and crossing my arms over my chest. "I cooked and cleaned, I bought him tickets to see a boxing match in Chicago with Jamison, I took him on a weekend getaway for his birthday, I..." and that's all I can think of. That's all I've done other than throw myself at him in the most selfish ways possible. A rather pathetic attempt at showing my love if you ask me.

"You realize that only one of those things you listed involved you," Emma tells me, taking a seat in one of the wooden chairs across from me. "And I'm guessing the two of you had some magical breakthrough in your relationship during that weekend." I don't respond, and she doesn't wait for a response. "Maybe you should show him you love him by—hmm, I don't know—actually spending time with him!"

I ponder her words for a moment, seeing the truth that she's just shown a light on. How is it that sometimes the simplest solutions are the ones we're most blinded to? Gee! I mean, who thought that quality time could improve a relationship? Well, here's the answer... everyone on planet earth!

I'm an idiot, and I know what I should do. Unfortunately, heartache and motivation do not couple well together. So, until I can move forward from my mother's passing, I honestly can't do much else. I don't have the energy to be romantic when romance is the furthest thing from my mind.

I'm just hoping that Seth can suffer through my emotional drought long enough for me to heal.