she was running late. the kind of late that has no real rhyme or reason. she'd been up for hours before leaving the house.
she caught up on a few quick work things she needed to do. she cleaned out the car. she ended up going through some mail, even. why? she was late. she knew she was. but that didn't hurry her on her way.
she was exhausted. for the last few nights she hadn't slept well. so, of course, she stopped to feed her addiction on the way into the office. as she walked in, she heard her everyday greetings. good morning. how are you. returned as always.
as she waited for her hot steaming cup of addiction, he walked in. a friendly hug. light easy banter.
after her addiction arrived, she lightly touched his arm and told him she had to go. his eyes gave him away.
she said she was sorry, she was late. she couldn't stay and enjoy the sunny patio again that morning. she really needed to get to work.
why, then, had she been so delayed in leaving her house. was there a reason. one she wasn't willing to acknowledge.