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refused to acknowledge. Her emotions were all over the place, her boobs were growing, she couldn’t fit into her goddamn favorite dress anymore, and her feet were getting wider. She realized these were all first-world problems in the grand scheme of things, but what about her? Her feelings?
    When the fuck had her life turned into a Lifetime movie?
    She tried to think back to what she’d done wrong. Had she been clingy? No way. She had her own apartment, and he stayed at the clubhouse more often than not. Had she demanded too much? Fuck no. If anything, she’d demanded too little. Ten-plus years into their relationship and she didn’t even have a patch. That was a pitiful thought and caused tears to come to her eyes. Her chin wobbled and she shakily inhaled a breath, trying to calm her out-of-control emotions. She was letting hormones get the best of her, and she knew it, but she also couldn’t stop it. Everyone else at least had a fucking patch. It gave them a certain amount of respect and told other men to stay away. He hadn’t claimed her in that way, even. Did that mean he’d never really wanted her? God, that was an awful fucking thought.
    There hadn’t been talk of a promise ring , much less an engagement ring. Had he even asked to move in with her? No. There’d not even been a mention of living together. He never wanted to leave much at her apartment either—almost like if he didn’t make a place there, then he didn’t have to admit that he felt at home. He couldn’t lose something if he never put down roots. Right? She was starting to see that, starting to partially understand why he’d always balked at any of the suggestions she made. It didn’t make anything easier though. If anything, it pissed her off even more.
    It was enough to make her throat close with emotion. Why did other people get what she wanted? And why did he drive by here—and by her apartment? She knew every time he did. She could pick his bike out of a hundred. She’d been listening for it for years.
    Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her stomach. There was no use getting upset about this, she tried to tell herself. There were things in her life she could change, and she knew this situation wasn’t one of them. Not easily anyhow. When would she matter to him? When would she be the person he put before himself? Why had she wasted so many years?
    That’s what hurt more than anything. The wasted years. Her best years. Ones she could have given to someone who gave a damn. But in the back of her mind, she knew he had given a damn. In his own way, in the only he could. She wasn’t sure if that made her a good woman or a pitiful excuse for a doormat.
    Her stomach chose that moment to revolt, and she bolted from her chair, running past Charity to the bathroom. She prayed with everything she had that once she started, she could stop, that this wouldn’t be hours-long puking like she’d had a few days ago. She couldn’t blame this on a stomach virus forever. Luckily she had her pills with her today.
    Her throat burned and her eyes watered as she kneeled over the porcelain, working her throat muscles to expel everything that was coming up.
    Real tears streamed down her face as Mandy realized just how much she wanted Dalton with her. She wanted him here for this part, wanted someone holding her hair out of the way, wanted him holding her hand, rubbing her back and offering comfort. Instead, she laid her warm cheek against the cold tile floor when she was done, hoping the stomach acid would stay down for the rest of the day.
    *
    Charity stood outside the bathroom door, cringing as she heard Mandy letting go of everything she possibly had in her stomach. She ran her hands down the skirt of her business suit and wondered if she should offer to help.
    Grabbing her cell phone, she made a quick call to her husband. They were both worried about Mandy, and just the other night they had been discussing if this was really a stomach virus or