32. Rosalyn

THIRTY-TWO

ROSALYN

The setting sun reflects off my windshield as I park in my assigned spot in front of my apartment building.

Nathan never came back after he left, and I'm still kicking myself over how let down that made me feel.

I haul my work backpack off the passenger seat and sling it over my shoulder.

Slamming my door behind me, I look at the sliding door on the side of the van and groan.

I want to leave all the tubs and containers for tomorrow. But I also know I'll hate myself if I do that. So, with a sigh, I drag the door open and take an armful of containers.

It takes some juggling to get through the building's front door. And I break out in more than a little sweat as I carry everything up the two flights of stairs to my door. But I eventually get inside and dump the pile of tubs on my dining table.

The downside of corporate is that they don't often make a plan to keep the leftovers, but I know a gal over at Marie's House—a place that houses families and women in need—who is always happy to take any extra food for their residents. So after dropping Presley off at home, I stopped there, meaning I'm home later than normal .

I eye the clock, wanting dinner of my own, but I drop my bag on the floor and head back down to my van.