Page 60 of No More Lies

Diane: Thanks for telling me

Steve: How are you?

How was she? Scared, lonely. Desperate to have her husband hold her. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Dammit, fighting tears all morning was giving her a headache.

Diane: I’m fine.

She waited for a response. Then her phone rang. It was Steve. She sighed. She couldn’t handle another tense conversation.

“Hey,” she answered wearily.

“Hey, Angel.”

Angel. Hearing him say that tipped her over the edge and tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Angel?”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, grabbing a tissue to wipe away tears.

“Don’t apologize. Talk to me.”

His voice was soft, concerned, and her heart squeezed. How could she be so unhappy with her life when she had Steve?

“I’m OK, really. It’s just a lot. I think everything is catching up with me. I have a pounding headache.” She sniffed.

Scottie opened the door and raised his eyebrows. She shook her head, mouthed ‘Steve’. He nodded and stepped back outside. No doubt he had seen her red eyes and was given her some privacy, which she was grateful for.

“I’m sorry about this morning. The way we were. Strike that. The way I was,” Steve said.

“I’m sorry, too. About everything.”

“I know. Please stop crying.” His tenderness was her undoing. The tears came harder. This was too much. All she wanted was to be with her husband.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Steve. Stay here and pretend to the partners and everyone that things are normal. Nothing is remotely normal.”

Her voice had risen slightly, and she closed her eyes to calm herself.

“I’m not coping. Everything... It's all too much... I can’t do this anymore.” It was as if the past months, everything she had been feeling, had crested, and with the Volkov situation she had reached her breaking point.

After a long silence that rattled her chest and threatened her with more tears, Steve spoke.

“OK, Angel. Hang in there a little bit longer. I’ll take care of it.” He ended the call, and she was left staring at the phone. What did he mean he’d take care of it?

Wiping her face, she got up and opened her door, forcing a smile.

“Sorry, guys. I’m just going to the washroom. Be right back.”

Scottie and Logan gave her a sympathetic smile and let her pass. She knew they would hover in the doorway until she returned safe and sound.

Inside the washroom, she splashed cold water on her face. Her mascara had smudged, and her face was deathly pale. Feeling lightheaded, she headed into a stall and just made it before throwing up. When the retching subsided, she sat on the floor and breathed deeply. Her headache was turning into a migraine. Slowly, she got to her knees and flushed the toilet. The stress, not eating, the tension, all were taking their toll. Getting to the sink and washing her face once again she straightened herself as best she could and stepped out into the hall. Scottie was walking toward her.

“Hey, we were getting worried. Are you OK?” he asked quietly. “You don’t look so good.”

“No, actually, I don’t feel too good. I think I have a migraine coming.” She placed a hand on the wall as the hallway spun.

“Whoa. Good job you’re going home then,” Scottie took her arm.

“What?”