The sun was streaming lazily through the flimsy blinds, which were neatly hung on the windows. The beams of light were picking up the little molecules of dust floating in the air, as Therese turned from her side onto her back to stare up at her mundane white ceiling. Another day, another dollar, she thought, as she swung her legs out of bed, before grabbing her white silk night robe and heading straight for the kettle.
Leaning on the counter, Therese found her eyes flicking to the photo frame she had positioned by the teabags. A photo frame she looked at every morning when making her morning brew, it contained the woman she once considered her soul mate. The only person, woman, in the world where home wasn't a place- it was a person. It was her. And it always would be her. Yet, her so called soulmate just wasn't there one day. No reason, no goodbye, just gone. It had taken Therese a year of uncontrollable sobs, therapy sessions, and not to mention to countless bottles of scotch to blur out the gaping hole that was missing from her life. A hole in which only this woman could fill, in more ways than one.
Therese traced her lips, caught up in the overwhelming thoughts of Carol that she had endured every morning, and would continue to endure until she moved on and met someone else. An idea in which still sickened Therese to the core. However, she succumbed to her thoughts hesitantly, as the sound of something falling through her letter box jolted her back to reality. Sleepily walking over to her door, she picked up the shiny piece of paper laying adjacent to her feet.
'ANTIQUE ROADSHOW COMING TO A TOWN NEAR YOU- be there, or be square. Next Tuesday, 9am-1pm' Trash, Therese thought, about to scrunch the spam mail up- until she noticed one of the sponsors at the bottom of the page. 'Woodard Antiques & Co.' Therese furrowed her brow, that name rang a bell, she remembered seeing contracts laying on Carol's desk a week before she left. Therese scurried over to her laptop, and quickly tapped her login details in before pulling up a Google search.
'Woodard Antiques' - nothing, no owner, no website. Therese leant on her elbows, as she carried on more Google searches. 'Woodard Antiques & Co- Carol Aird'. Here we go, Therese thought, as she pulled up a news article dating 6 months ago. 'New owner of local antique firm brings new idea to company, raising profits by 10%' Therese's stomach flipped, and her hands instantly began to clam as she desperately tried to scroll through the page looking for Carol's name. And then she saw it. A photograph of Carol shaking a hand of some man whilst coworkers looked on with glee. Carol was smiling, her grey eyes a light, her skin flawless, her blonde curls gripped back.
It was as if Therese's body shut down. She couldn't feel herself breath, she stopped blinking, her fingers froze on her keyboard, her eyes stopped processing what they saw in front of her. It was Carol, Carol smiling, Carol working, it was Carol. Carol. And just like that, a wash of anger flooded Therese's body, like a wave smashing up against the rocks. How dare she smile, how dare she get on with her life, and be successful when she left Therese with nothing, how dare it not bother her, how dare she for letting Therese become the shell she was.
Therese looked down at the Antique poster, and exhaled, before looking back at her computer screen. Carol. Antique Show. Tuesday.