She walked to the subway station on autopilot, her body moving through the familiar motions while her mind drifted.
One month. Today marked exactly one month since that night in the greenhouse. Since she'd betrayed him. Since he'd walked away.
Thirty days. Seven hundred and twenty hours. Forty-three thousand, two hundred minutes.
She'd counted every single one.
People said time healed all wounds. That eventually the pain would fade. That she'd wake up one day and realize she'd gone an hour without thinking about him, then a day, then a week.
They were liars.
She thought about him constantly. Every moment of every day. Every patient reminded her of something....a man with dark hair like his, a woman wearing emerald like the dress he'd loved, a child's laughter that sounded like the joy she'd felt in his arms.
Everything led back to him.
