Chapter Two
Two
Six months later
I studied myself in the mirror, carefully applying my favorite red lipstick and smoothing down some flyaway strands of hair. The woman who stared back at me looked different. She was thinner and sharper, with a pointy edge to her chin and defined cheekbones. Dark eyes were rimmed with liner. A touch of gold glitter shadow swiped over her lids emphasized full black lashes. She was clad in a fashionable mustard wrap dress that showed off her leaner figure, and I was surprised at how calm and in control she was. As if she had everything figured out.
I peered harder into my reflection, my gaze clashing with my twin’s. It was then I saw the duplicity.
The woman’s eyes were beautiful, but they were dead. No emotion gleamed there, just a surface flatness no one would ever notice as long as she didn’t let them look too hard.
I drew in a breath, held a moment, and slowly released. The familiar prickling danced beneath the surface of my skin, but that was the least of my problems. I had to be my best at this event. I’d postponed twice already, and though everyone seemed understanding because of the circumstances, I’d run out of time. If I didn’t show, I’d risk my stable of followers and fans, which I needed desperately to keep, and the new ones I needed desperately to sign.
I can do this.
Pulling my shaky fingers into fists, I left the bathroom in a cloud of Dior and grabbed my beaded vintage purse. Jason had a late meeting with investors for his new gym, so we’d decided to go separately. I wished he was at my side to walk in and greet everyone, but he’d sacrificed enough. I couldn’t expect him to continue putting off his workload to babysit me. It was time I showed him I was truly back to my powerhouse ways and the woman he’d fallen in love with.
I am strong.
I am capable.
I am all.
My mantra was firm and powerful even as my gut clenched with fear. It was new—this anxiety that washed over me when I was confronted with people. At first, I gave myself grace to pick up the pieces, canceled a few appearances, and delayed the new podcast season. After all, my entire world had blown up with a phone call. The daily motivational videos I posted slowed to once a week. My editor gave me an extension on the book and pushed out the release date. At the respectable three-month mark, I decided I’d grieved enough and dove back into work, confident it’d been enough time.
I guess it hadn’t been. I suffered from hive breakouts, panic around crowds, and a brain fog that made it impossible to focus. Jason was patient. But as time passed and things didn’t get better, I began to wonder why I couldn’t go back to my old self. It was the exact time frame I’d needed years ago when I lost Dad. Three months of hard grief, then slow, achievable steps to break out of my emotional paralysis. By six months, I should be putting in regular days. I didn’t expect to be back to my full self until after a year, but why wasn’t I even able to complete simple tasks?
I couldn’t afford to keep myself out of the spotlight any longer. Tonight, I needed to prove that I could run my business, charm clients, and grow my fan base.
Everything depended on it.
Lifting my chin with determination, I repeated the mantra to myself as I climbed into my sleek white convertible and drove to the restaurant. Harvest on Hudson boasted warm elegance, impeccable food, and a gorgeous setting on the Hudson River. The late spring night was warm and the patio was open; twinkling lights, a full bar, and appetizers made their rounds under a sky filled with stars.
I walked to the main dining area, nodding with approval at the elegant decor. With sparkling crystal, bright white tablecloths, gorgeous floral vases, and accents of rich wood, it dripped with the aura of accomplishment and success. The bar was an icon of dark mahogany and gleaming granite, allowing plenty of seating and space for networking.
My planner, Penelope, had nailed it. The new season of my podcast may have been delayed, but now I was back and intended to dazzle. I’d decided to throw a celebration party with an impressive guest list to thank my current audience and expand to new members. Press had been invited, along with several huge social media influencers and previous podcast guests. Signs and a giant banner advertised my glowing face next to the famous hook line: Step Into Your Success! I did a walk-through, tidied up last-minute details with Penelope, and got ready to begin greeting guests.
I had created a reputation of getting people to be real with themselves and their limitations, but if I was counseling myself, I’d say it was time to push through. I couldn’t bury myself in a cave when the world needed me. Life didn’t shut down because I was struggling with a difficult loss. Showing up as my best self was exactly what my audience needed to see—growth and determination after being hit hard with tragedy. I was a living, breathing symbol of all I counseled, and I refused to fail.
“Aurora!” I swung around to greet Sheena, one of my most successful clients. She looked impeccable as usual, dressed in an emerald green beaded dress, her honey blond hair done in an elaborate twist to show off her delicate features. “How are you doing? Better, I hope?”
Her face reflected a sympathy and swirling curiosity that immediately jerked my hackles up. Losing my mom had given my followers a bit of gossip, becoming a hot topic as a swarm of condolences choked my daily feeds. People reached out with their apologies, love, and prayers. And of course, positive thoughts. Many were friends. Many were strangers. It was a beautiful thing to see the world show up to support me after my loss, but I also experienced something horrible and dark growing inside me, like mold slithering and threatening a clean surface.
Resentment.
Because I was in the public spotlight, people nosily inquired about the details of my loss. The consistent prodding to share my experience, my heartbreak, and the gory details of how it felt to be an orphan created a deep well of rage that shocked me. Memories of my father’s car crash began surfacing, and I didn’t want to deal with others poking into the losses I’d endured, greedily devouring my grief like I was a reality television star.
But I recognized that part of the grief cycle was anger, so I tried to accept my dark emotions with grace. I was confident the feeling would dissipate.
I smiled and pushed all the mess down with a hard shove. “So much better! Thanks for asking. I’m excited to get back to work. I hear congratulations are in order for renewing the series?”
Sheena had come to me as a struggling actress desperate to make it. She was beautiful and talented but lacked confidence. After a year of deep work, she landed a role in a television pilot that was eventually turned into a series. Sheena’s role as the beautiful bitchy neighbor grew in popularity, and now she was a household name. She offered a blurb for my website and was a guest on my podcast, praising my services. It had been the beginning of my own breakout, and my podcast began to climb the charts. She was a symbol to me of the people I could help with my philosophies and action plans.
Her glossy pink lips opened to emit a delighted laugh. “Yes, we’re in season three—can you believe it? My agent is sending me movie scripts now. As you’ve always told me, when your time comes for success, you need to be ready and have done the work. I’m going full throttle while my name is hot.”
“That’s wonderful. You know I’m here whenever you need me.”
“Same, Aurora. My heart truly broke for your loss. I’m glad to see you thriving again.”
I swallowed past the tightness in my throat and chatted a bit more before easing to the next group of guests. The waiter glided by and I snatched a glass of champagne, clutching it gratefully. Alcohol was allowed this evening. God knows, I needed a little liquid courage tonight.
The next hour was a blur of faces, condolences, and superficial niceties. I did my best to bring my usual enthusiastic and bold personality, but my skin began to itch under my beautiful dress, and sweat dripped between my breasts, even though the air was chilled. I had to make my speech soon to pump everyone up. Usually, the pull of the crowd and the possibility of changing people’s mindsets flooded me with gratitude and adrenaline.
But not now. Now I only felt my heart beating faster and louder. My voice rose in conversation as I tried to struggle past the roaring noise in my ears. I was just about to duck into the ladies’ room to calm down, but my gaze suddenly fastened on Jason, easing through the crowd to reach me.
Relief dropped my shoulders. He was dressed in an immaculate blue suit, with a starched pink shirt. He wore Italian loafers and no socks. Blond hair curled over his brow. Sky blue eyes kept me in focus as he stopped at my side, bending down to kiss my temple. “Sorry I’m late,” he whispered. “How’s it going?”
“Great. I’m so happy you’re here.” My words contradicted my body as I leaned into him for support. He allowed it for a few precious seconds, then eased back. Jason had told me multiple times he’d fallen in love with me for my fierce independence, self-reliance, and inner strength. My need factor had been high these past months, and I knew he was hoping I’d rally and prove I could push through anything for success. Even grief.
Even by myself.
“Good. I didn’t want to miss your speech. This is a good turnout,” he said, glancing at the crowded room. I looked around and tried to see what he did, but the colorful, glamorous gowns and sleek suits and sparkling crystal glasses seemed distorted, as if I viewed the scene through a dirty lens.
“How was the opening?” I asked.
“Exactly what I hoped—we were at capacity.” Satisfaction settled over his face. “I manifested my vision and now I have three gyms. Plus, I just got a sponsorship for Quake protein drinks. They’re interested in partnering with the gym for marketing purposes. Isn’t that incredible?”
“Incredible,” I repeated.
Jason’s schedule was already maxed. Once I stopped working twenty-four seven, I noticed how little time we actually spent together outside work. But of course, I was happy for him. He was getting everything he dreamed of. It just felt odd that I wasn’t racing by his side, hand in hand. I’d tripped and slowed, watching him pull ahead.
I needed to pick up my pace or he’d cross the finish line without me.
The idea caused fear to poke its ugly head out from the dark cellar. I kicked its head and shut the door. It remained closed.
For now.
“You worked hard and you deserve this success,” I said firmly.
“Thanks, babe. Now it’s your turn. I know things have been hard, but this is your moment. Go claim it.”
Why did his tone irritate instead of inspire me? I ignored the question and smiled, grabbing another glass of champagne. His frown told me he disapproved, but this time, I didn’t care. I just needed one more to get through, then I’d drink water the rest of the night.
We networked like the power couple we were, and I finally nodded to Penelope, who immediately dimmed the lights and began the opening music for my podcast. Applause thundered as I took the stage. I was reminded once again that I’d spent years scrambling for this day, this exact scenario. People now looked to me for advice and support and counsel. I was the focus of a lavish, exclusive cocktail party to celebrate a podcast I’d built and made successful. I’d changed lives for many in this room. I’d proven my significance.
I gave a dazzling smile and hooted into the microphone with my trademark call to action.
“I’m so happy to be here, surrounded by the doers, the creators, the believers!”
More applause. My gaze took in the blur of faces, all turned toward me, waiting to be dazzled, expecting me to give them what they showed up for. I waited for the rush to fill me up and flood my veins, allowing me to be that change for them—to help them believe in themselves like I did.
But I felt…nothing.
Just a slow unraveling of anxiety building to a low, thrumming panic. I kept my arms held high in the air, big smile pasted to my face, and relied on the power of my voice to keep going.
“We’ve done all this together. There is no me without you—and this party tonight is so much more than an opportunity to dress up and drink bubbly champagne and network. This is about stepping into our real selves. The powerful, beautiful people we are inside, ready to be unleashed. Ready to be our best. Ready to…”
I waited and hoped they’d take the bait.
“Step into success!” the audience roared back.
My stomach loosened. Breath came easier into my lungs. I got this.
“That’s right! Tonight, I’ve brought you together to take a new step into the future with me. I’ve got a new action implementation plan to make things easier for you to break through blocks. More stories to inspire and help you remember your power. More guests on the podcast to tell their truth and help us create real change for our lives and our future, full of all our dreams, such as financial freedom, love, contribution, and passion! Who wants it all ?”
The music crashed through the speakers and the lights flashed and everyone clapped wildly. My gaze scanned the crowd, snagging on Jason, who looked up at me with pride and satisfaction. That elusive adrenaline hit finally crashed through, and I was back, ready to lead.
Until Jason looked down, frowned at his phone, then quickly lifted it to his ear. In the middle of the pumped-up crowd, in the middle of my rousing speech, he pivoted on his leather heel and walked out of the restaurant.
It was a simple thing. A minor inconvenience that would have normally made me a bit irritated. Maybe I would have said something to him later on, he would have apologized, and the entire incident would have been erased.
But right now, the emptiness inside me gaped open like a bleeding wound, like Jason had ripped off the bandage and exposed my vulnerability to the world. Within seconds, I saw flashes of our past relationship and how he liked things to be tit for tat. I saw our connection not as true emotion but as a convenient arrangement, a bargain to push the other toward greatness and achievement.
What I didn’t see in those awful, flickering moments?
Jason showing up for the ugly stuff. The hard things. The mess that lurked behind greatness but was always present and waiting to jump out.
The devastating truth was too much to process so quickly, but then the second crisis occurred right on its tail.
My mother’s voice rose inside me and the memory bashed into me with a touch of violence, yanking me into the past.
“I’m worried about you, Aurora. You’re becoming a person I don’t recognize anymore.”
We were sitting on the front porch. My mom was curled up in the rocker, a glass of red wine cupped in her long, tapered fingers. Her hair fell in messy waves over her shoulders, stray grays intermingled with coal black strands. She wore loose oatmeal-colored pants and a matching well-worn cardigan sweater. The sun was setting, turning the sky to warm pinks and blues, bleeding into one another like a child’s crushed crayons. We’d just finished dinner, and I’d spent most of the time excitedly telling her about my exploding business. Mom had just nodded, thoughtfully staring at me with those stirring dark eyes, stripping past the barrier right to my soul. My frustration with her inability to celebrate my success grew, so I’d asked her to talk out on the porch.
“Mom, why don’t you understand work makes me happy? Do you see the amount of people who need me? I’m changing lives!”
Her sigh floated on the warm spring breeze. “You misunderstand me, Aurora. Seeing you happy makes my heart full. But you’re chasing happiness in the wrong direction. There’s a difference between wanting to help people and wanting to be loved and needed. I think you’re confusing the two.”
I felt like screaming at her stubbornness. I’d never believed Mom would want to hold me back in my career—she’d never been one to push the “stay at home, get married, and have children” role. But now I wondered if she wasn’t disappointed that I’d passed thirty and wasn’t close to settling down. My voice sharpened. “I’m sorry you believe I’m pathetic enough to chase after adoration with strangers, Mom. I mean, really? Do you realize I’m making a difference in the world? I’ve built real connections! How does that translate to neediness?”
Her lips pursed and I knew she was just as frustrated as I was. “I’m simply asking you to look deeper. Do you realize you never see your old friends anymore? You used to visit Hannah and April in Chicago regularly, but you haven’t gone in over a year. I can barely get you to commit to a Sunday afternoon dinner, and if you do come, you’re always in a rush. And the last time you went to church was Christmas.”
“I’m busy building something for myself. Is that so wrong?”
“No. Work is important. Goals and passions are important. But so are family, friends, and faith. I’m afraid for you, darling.”
I blinked and regarded her in shock. “Afraid of what? That I’ll be rich and well-known and deliriously happy?”
Sadness and some type of grief shone in her gaze. I jerked back, confused at the obvious pain and secrets swirling in those depths, but then it was gone and she was just my mom again.
Her voice caught and drifted in the playful breeze. “I’m afraid when you reach that lofty peak, you’ll look into the crowd and see no one you truly recognize. That you will be alone.”
I’d gotten offended, refusing to listen. I’d chalked the whole lecture up to her being upset that I’d changed. Just because I had no time to have a four-course dinner full of carbs or go to church to hear the priest ramble on didn’t mean I’d be alone. I said as much, and she backed down, but the words couldn’t be unspoken or unheard.
I blinked wildly, trying to clear my vision. My gaze sought out familiar faces to prove my mother was wrong. I recognized all my clients, new and old. Influencers whom I’d gotten to know on a first-name basis. Actors, artists, writers, and self-help gurus who dotted the landscape with their own fans. My staff. Acquaintances whom I occasionally grabbed coffee with to share ideas.
But no one I loved.
No real friends who knew me from before. No family. No Jason.
Dear God, had my mother been right?
Grief crushed me and I became helpless beneath the weight. Within moments, I’d completely lost my focus. The heart that had been full for my audience filled with sadness and an aching loneliness I’d never experienced before. I felt untethered in the world and in this room, where I’d carefully curated a group of supporters to help share in my joy of success.
Instead, I felt horribly isolated and overwhelmed.
I want my mom and dad back.
The noise level dimmed.
I want to go home and be safe.
A low hoot of encouragement rose to my ears. The lump in my throat grew bigger, choking me, and my skin began to itch.
“I—I can’t thank you enough for being here. I’m so grateful.”
I bit the inside of my cheek hard as silly tears threatened. I would not let this happen. I was bigger than my emotions. I’d spent the past years proving myself over and over so others could do it, too. I could not fail at my own launch party, with cameras flashing and videos whirring and important influencers hanging on my next words.
“This is going to be an epic year for all of us.”
My booming, kick-ass tone fell flat. Murmurs arose. In horror, I watched hives begin to break out on my bare arms, popping up like Rice Krispies cereal in an angry, blistering red.
I had to get off the stage before it was too late.
Frantically, I looked around for someone to save me but found no one.
“Let’s take a step toward owning our future.” My voice wobbled, hitched, broke.
A hush fell over the restaurant, and hungry, curious gazes poked and prodded every inch.
“Let’s—”
From a distance, I heard the music begin to play. Penelope tried to gain me those precious seconds to flee the stage before the disaster came, but it was too late.
I burst into tears and began to sob in front of my guests.
Then I ran away.