Layla booked herself into a bed and breakfast in Haymarket in the west end of Edinburgh and fell into bed but not into sleep. She lay on her back, eyes streaming with tears, her chest aching with emptiness. What a fool she had been to admit she loved Logan. A gauche fool who should have known better than to think he would ever return her feelings. He had locked away his heart and she had been crazy to think she of all people held the key. She didn’t. And never would.
She looked at her bare ring finger and sighed. She’d left his grandmother’s engagement ring and her wedding ring on Logan’s bedside table. There was no way she could keep his family heirloom. The ring would just have been a painful reminder of how she had failed to win his heart—of how her dreams had been shattered like a robin’s egg on concrete.
She picked up her phone and checked if he’d replied to her text informing him she had arrived safely. He had, but in characteristic fashion had kept it brief.
Okay.
No words asking her to reconsider. No words of love. Just ‘Okay’.
Layla put the phone back down and flopped back against the pillows with another sigh. More fool her for wanting more than was possible.
But wasn’t that the pitiful story of her life?
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