Ceo my little

Something I hadn't felt since the day she left. She made me feel alive. Now I'm questioning everything about our past and my future. Freya Breaking Max's heart seemed like a good idea at eighteen. I needed him to forget me and let me go. All these years I pretended that what we had was never real. I told myself I wanted what was best for him. I told myself it wasn't me. After seeing him again, I'm not so sure. As his wedding day approaches, I wonder if I should tell him the real reason I left. Would that make any difference? To my little cherry: you are my courage. Love, Mom. "Life begins again when it becomes crisp in autumn." –F. Scott Fitzgerald Chapter One Freya Once the bus stopped, I dreaded having to get up and make my way down the long hallway. I got used to the old gray seats. It was disturbingly sad to say that they were almost comforting. My life was in ruins now. I could drown my sorrows in alcohol, trying to ease the pain, but I wasn't like her. After all, I had survived much worse. When the bus driver made the last call to leave, I hesitated to look out the window because I knew what was waiting for me outside the safe confines of the bus. Anything. Okay, that was a lie. Outside the windows was a reality I didn't think I'd have to face again. Outside the windows was a place I once called home. Sunny Pines, where it wasn't always sunny. Where pine trees and other trees were abundant, making the city a wonderland in spring and a sea of ​​leaves in autumn. A place where dreams were born, but died if you didn't leave. Where I now crawl back, swallowing a mountain of pride. I had big dreams, but sometimes big dreams end in a bigger disaster, so here I am at eleven at night sneaking into the place that stopped being home a long time ago. Taking a deep breath, I stand up, grab my luggage, and head out to the dark bus stop. No car. No man. No dreams. I had it all. I was living the dream, but then it ended. Now I faced the harsh truth that my dream was nothing more than glamour, just the facade that was my life in San Francisco. I have worked as a personal stylist for a small but high-class boutique for the past few years. I, the girl who was all about jeans and tank tops, was now a trendsetter. I loved the fact that I got a discount on the latest fashions, my closet was fabulous, and I had a say in what merchandise to stock. What I didn't know at the time was that my fabulous closet was being used by the women my boyfriend brought back to our house. I was just the main girl while he was parading around town with his harem