Page 100 of Robbin’ the Rich

I couldn’t stop replaying the parking lot conversation again, searching for some version where I said the right thing. Maybe then there could be a version where she stopped walking away.

Sitting back on my couch, I covered my face with my hands. I had really made a mess of everything.

22

ROBIN

Idon't remember the walk home. I had intended to call an uber, but I just kept walking and somehow ended up home. When I tried to recall any specific part of the trip, all I found was static. One moment I was standing in a restaurant parking lot looking at Micah. Next, I was unlocking my apartment door.

Everything in between felt lost beneath the weight of what had happened.

The apartment was dark when I stepped inside. Normally that wouldn't have bothered me. I'd lived alone long enough to find the silence comforting. Tonight it felt wrong. The quiet settled around me, amplifying every thought I was desperately trying not to think.

I tossed my purse onto the counter and stood motionless in the middle of the living room.

Then I laughed. A single sharp sound that echoed through the apartment. Because what else was I supposed to do? Cry? Scream? Throw something? All three remained viable options.

Instead, I dropped onto the couch and stared at the blank television screen. The reflection staring back at me looked shell-shocked.

I couldn't stop replaying it. The look on Micah's face gutted me.

But then I saw Pastor Nottingham proudly introducing his middle son. I felt like I was stuck in the soap operas my mom used to watch going up. Only if someone had pitched this plotline to me, I would have told them to make it more believable.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table. I picked it up without even looking at it and turned it off. I already knew what was waiting there. I knew there were more apologies and explanations coming. I just wasn’t ready to hear them yet.

The worst part was that I believed him. I believed that he didn’t believe what they believed and that he was the guy I knew. That was what made everything so complicated. If Micah had actually been like his father, this would have been easy. I would have blocked his number, deleted his contact information, and moved on.

Instead, I kept thinking about meteor showers and French toast and all the kind things he’d done.

You've become my favorite part of the day.

I was going to tell him I was falling in love with him tonight. The memory hit like a punch.

I groaned and dropped my head back against the cushions.

For several minutes I sat there arguing with myself. One side pointed out that Micah wasn't responsible for who his father was. The other side pointed out that he'd had weeks to tell me. One side reminded me that he'd looked genuinely devastated in the parking lot. The other reminded me that I'd practically handed him dozens of opportunities to be honest.

But when it came right down to it, he lied, even if it was a lie of omission, it was still a lie, and I didn’t know what to do with that.

Eventually I stood and wandered into my office.

Habit more than intention carried me there. When life became overwhelming, I tended to seek out things that made sense. Spreadsheets made sense. Databases made sense. Numbers behaved predictably. Computers didn't hide secret identities and casually emotionally destroy you.

The monitors flickered to life.

I logged in and pulled up the accounts almost automatically. And yes, maybe part of me needed proof that he had not sold me out to his family and told them about the money I’d been funneling to Lantern House.

The church records appeared. Everything was still good. The monthly transfers were still taking place. The money was still moving exactly where it was supposed to.

I sat back in my chair and stared at the screen. I was almost positive he wouldn’t have told them, but now there was a doubt that hadn’t been there before. That was the part I didn’t know what to do with.

If Micah decided wanted revenge, he could destroy me.

One conversation with the wrong person would have been enough to start unraveling everything. Yet I didn’t even question whether he would sell me out. He wouldn’t. No matter how angry I was, the version of Micah I'd come to know didn't suddenly disappear.

I knew he was, or at least I thought he did.

That raised a question I didn’t know how to grapple with.