Chapter 2 One Year Later

• Nadia’s night spent in jail a year ago had been a nightmare. Then, she spent the month after in a monitored psychiatric facility so that her charges were kept to misdemeanor rather than a more serious felony charge.
• Twenty-four hours a day of being monitored, being told what to do, what to eat, and what medication would make her ‘feel better.’ As if medication would take care of the real issue. Once that ended, she was asked by the court to attend weekly therapy for her anger issues. It was two hours of sitting with angry people, discussing their triggers and coping mechanisms. It did nothing to help Nadia because she didn’t have anger issues, she had a cheating husband and a backstabbing best friend.
• The meeting coordinator was frustrated with her lack of involvement, although he would never point it out. Something to do with maintaining the peace at all cost. The coordinator requested one last time for Nadia to share her story to the group.
• “Nadia, you can’t deny that you have an issue.”
• “I am not denying that I have issues. I am just saying that managing my anger isn’t one of them.”
• “I promise it will be cathartic. You will feel so much better.”
• “I doubt that.” Remembering the situation only made it worse for her.
• “You will accept why you are here if you say it out loud.”
• “I know why I am here. It was one of the conditions to drop the charges.”
• “You will recognize the mistakes—”
• “I shouldn’t have broken that window, yes.”
• “Which will, in turn help you rid the anger bottled up inside you. You will learn the coping strategies for your triggers,” he finished through clenched teeth.
• “I have two triggers and I don’t plan on seeing either of them. Therefore, nothing to cope with.”
• The coordinator hummed. “Alright. Either share your story or I won’t sign your course completion certificate. And you will be in violation of court order.”
• Aside from the threat, she found the words of the coordinator condescending and making it out as her fault. But she needed the certificate and her choices had been taken away long ago. Perhaps the coordinator should have known that a story about backstabbers and cheaters wouldn’t end well in a room full of angry people. There was mayhem and the coordinator was anxious to get Nadia out of there before signing her certificate.
• Nadia much preferred her personal appointment with the therapist over group sessions. Everyone in her life insisted that she should see the benefits of what had happened to her. To see the silver lining. But it was hard to enjoy the decisions which were made for her. The entire situation had limited her life and her career.
• Which was why she was seated at a coffee shop that morning, looking out of the storefront window. She tolled away her time. She couldn’t avoid the appointment, but at the least, she could delay it.
• It was the first day of the new school year. Young children were ushered about wearing brand new clothes and carrying backpacks. They walks down the block, hand in hand with their proud parents. Then there were the nannies taking their toddler charges on their first excursions. Through the window, she smiled at those old enough to walk on their one.
• She frowned at the ones in the strollers. It was a trigger. Sometimes, she didn’t know what a trigger was until you were faced with it and you were lost. It made her mind wander to another trigger.
• The child.
• The little boy who was five months old and was named after his father. Nadia knew through remaining contacts that her husband—her ex-husband’s son. A healthy baby boy who was as pretty as his father.
• “Nadia?”
• Startled, she blinked away from the window and looked up into a pair of unfamiliar blue eyes framed by a stranger’s face.
• “Yes?” was her one-word reply. She was dry and wary of every word she spoke.
• “I think this is yours. I—” The stranger chuckled and glanced down for a fleeting moment before meeting her eyes again. “I heard you order it.”
• Nadia narrowed her eyes at the cup in the stranger’s hand. Her name in bold assuaged some of her worries.
• “It has been out for a few minutes and I assumed you would have ordered your drink iced if you wanted it cold,” he said with a grin.
• Rather than go on a tangent about how far iced and steaming were, Nadia took the offered cup from him and mumbled the worst socially acceptable thanks.
• “Thanks.”
• She set the cup down and returned her attention to the window to continue her game of self-torment.
• The stool next to her scraped and the stranger took the seat. When he cleared his throat, Nadia glanced sideways. He wrapped one hand around his coffee while the other drummed over the counter. Minutes passed and he kept up his beat. He didn’t touch his coffee.
• Finally, Nadia took control. “What are you doing?”
• The stranger’s eyes remained rooted to the window. “I am trying to decipher what is so fascinating about the view to make one miss their name being called by the barista seven times.”
• She stared at him for a few seconds. She noted his dark hair, the sunlight highlighting a few strands that turned them red. He had thick brows that were well-groomed. His nose was slightly crooked, making her wonder if it was a sports injury or a fist to the face. Who knew? There were a ton of crazy people attacking others on the street these days.
• And there was another trigger.
• She pushed the thoughts away and saw the smile playing at the corner of his lips. It accentuated his sharp jawline and the stubbled that trickled down to his Adam’s apple. It wasn’t the kind of stubble that took Quinn months to grow in an attempt to look older. It was better but not the bushy kind that homeless people often donned on.
• Yet another thought Nadia shook off.
• In another lifetime, Nadia would have found the stranger devastatingly good-looking. Instead, she looked away with no intention of interacting with the completely unknown.