Carol Cail

"Are you serious? You are serious. Oh God, you're going to leave me alone here?"
At least he'd waited till Thursday to break the news--till the paper was in the can, or, more accurately, in the racks, in the mail, and in the hands of its several thousand readers. This way, she could devote her full attention to the horrible problem of his deserting her.
"Pull yourself together, Burnell. Don't be a crybaby," he snarled, to shame her into remembering her independence, her pride, her tough streak.
But at the moment, Maxey felt worse than when they'd agreed to a divorce, more than three years ago. Of course, then she'd been the leaver and Reece had been the leave-ee. Then the pain had been a dull ache in her chest. Now she felt as if she had inadvertently boarded a roller coaster and hung poised on the first awful peak, the path before her a rickety jumble of wooden planks. How could she hope to navigate the ups and downs without Reece?
She felt behind herself for the nearest of their assorted office chairs and sank into it, still staring at her ex-husband. He, in contrast, stood straight as a cadet called on the carpet, blue eyes intent on the far wall, every line of his lean body exuding determination, only his Opus the Penguin T-shirt giving away his true nature.