"So, are we going to get off the couch today?"

Meeting Abby's sympathetic - slightly patronizing - glance, I responded with a quiet, "Maybe," and shrugged my shoulders.

Was I being pathetic by wallowing in my own self-misery? Yes. Did I have a right to be? I thought so. Had I left Abby's apartment since my arrival five days ago? No - and I wasn't planning on doing so any time soon.

Once I got into the car and was driven away from my parent's house, I asked Abby and Jake to take me to my apartment. Thankfully, for once, no one else followed us there, allowing me to move out the rest of my things as quickly as possible. Something had to have possessed my body because I was quite a machine that day. I'm sure if there was a record for moving boxes out of a small apartment, I would have broken it. To my surprise, I was even coherent enough to unpack some things into its own special box; one that was filled with old memories and was to be tossed out by my landlord.

"Dyl, we're going to have to figure out this apartment thing soon."

She was right. I needed to get my shit together. Not only did I need to find my own apartment, but I needed to be able to fund that apartment, which would require a job. Abby had mentioned an opening at her restaurant and was desperate for me to take the position. However, that required me to get off the couch. And that was not something I was willing to do just yet.

As a knock at the front door caught Abby's attention, my eyes focused back on whatever sappy romance movie was playing on the television. At least I had gotten past yelling "liar" every time the main male character said something slightly romantic to the female. That was progress.

The front door swung open, followed by the sound of Abby's voice. "Uh, hello. Who are-"

"Diane Lewis, attorney at law," the familiar voice announced. The sound of heels against the old wooden floors drew closer as I turned my head. "Oh, thank goodness. You're alive." Diane's voice dripped with sarcasm as she stood in front of me. "I would have never guessed since you haven't bothered to pick up your phone or answer any of my emails."

Abby stood behind the woman, her eyes widening as she appeared to be connecting the dots. She mouthed a clear, Fancy Pants, the nickname she had given Diane in my direction.

"I'm sorry, Diane," I mumbled quietly. "Not that I'm unhappy to see you, but what are you doing here?"

"Well, there is a certain painting that I still owe you payment for." Diane rummaged through her bag, pulling out a piece of paper. "When Charlie showed up with his outfit all ruffled up with the painting and cheque still in hand, I knew something was wrong."

"Oh," I nodded in response, not wanting to acknowledge the drama surrounding why Charlie may have gone into work that way. "Wait. How did you find me?"

"Please, dear. You don't get to where I am without having a few PI's on speed dial."

Abby raised a brow. "PI's?"

"Private investigators," Diane said, turning her attention to my friend, "And I'll take a cup of tea. Camomile if you have it."

"Oh I didn't-" Abby pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded her head. "Coming right up."

Diane riffled through her purse as she walked over to where I sat. Pulling out a white handkerchief, she laid it on the couch cushion before sitting down. "So this is where you've been hiding away?" She asked, looking around the space. "It's... charming."

I nodded, slightly amused by her attempt to hide her distaste of the apartment. "Short term. Till I figure some stuff out."

"Now, what is this?"

"What is what?" I hummed in response, looking up at the woman.

Diane motioned her hand in front of my face. "This. Why do you look like you haven't slept in a week."

Abby snorted, returning to the living room with a mug. "Because she hasn't."

"Are you okay?" Diane asked, concern evident in her tone.

I repeated the question one more time in my head, trying to think of an honest answer. "I... I don't think so."

"Do you need a lawyer?"

I held back a smile, shaking my head. "No."

"Not unless you can sue someone for being a total douche-ass," Abby pipped in, taking a seat.

"Douche-ass?" Diane repeated.

The word sounded funny coming from her.

"I'm trying to think of new ways to refer to..." Abby paused, "Someone whose name we do not say in this household."

Diane raised a brow. "Oh, Dylan. Please don't tell me all of this is over a boy."

"Not exactly."

"Could you translate this for me?" Diane referred her question to Abby.

Abby cleared her throat and perfected her posture. "Basically, she just found out some big family secret and the boy she either used to love or still loves," She cocked her head to the side, sending a quick glare in my direction, "Still not sure about that," she let out a dramatic sigh and turned her attention back to Diane, "Knew about it the entire time and never told her."

"Well, that is-"

"Oh, and, he confessed his love for her and they slept together the night before she found out."

"Abby!" I hissed.

Diane took a sip of her tea. "How bad was this secret, dear?"

My hands fidgeted in my lap. "My older sister got pregnant and my parents sent her off to Europe to fix it, as they so kindly put it."

"And this boy... the douche-ass," an amused grin appeared on her lips, "How is he involved?"

"I... I don't know," the words left my lips slowly.

Diane turned her head towards Abby. "Translate?"

"He's known since they met, which was about three years ago," Abby began her list, "We now know they broke up the first time because her parents paid him off. And, we know he is not the baby daddy."

"Yet, you don't know how he knows or found out?"

I shook my head. "Right after I found out, he was outside my parent's house. I was a bit overwhelmed to get all the answers."

Diane slowly nodded. "Do you think you could forgive him?"

The question I had been dreading for the past five days was once again asked. "I don't think I can answer that right now."

"You can answer it right now because you do know. So come on, put your big girl pants on," Diane urged, placing her mug down on the coffee table. "Can you forgive him?"

I noticed the motherly look I had been deprived of from all these years in Diane's eyes as she placed her hands over the top of mine.

"Can you forgive him?" She repeated.

"No."

"Why?"

"He's hurt me too many times."

"And?"

Raising a confused brow, I repeated, "And?"

Diane sighed. "And you are worth more than some douche-ass who does not value and cherish all you have to offer. Never accept less than what you are worth."

Never accept less than what you are worth.

Diane had repeated the similar phrase she had said the first time we met in her office. Hopefully, this time I would actually follow her words and keep them true.

"See, Dylan," Abby pipped in once again, grinning from her spot, "Douche-ass is catching on."

Diane clasped her hands together. "So, what is the next step then? Find out where Delilah is?"

I nervously chewed on my bottom lip. "Yes, except, I don't know where to start."

"Your parents never told you where she was in Europe?"

"No," I said, letting a frustrated sigh slip, "They've never been forthcoming with any information before. Why start now?"

Abby spoke up from her seat."Well, there was the scarf box your mom gave you that we never opened. Maybe there's some hidden clue in the print that will lead us to where she is. I'll go get it!"

"You know, Dylan," Diane said once the two of us were alone, "A friend of mine owns a gallery in Paris and they are looking to hire new employees. You mentioned before that you've never been, maybe now is the best time for you to go. Permanently."

Paris? To work? Permanently?

Before I could question Diane on the sudden job offer, Abby returned with the black box I swore to never open.

"I mean, if it's not a cute scarf, maybe you can sell it?" Abby suggested as she handed the box to Diane. "I'm going to vote for it not being cute. Your mom's got a weird sense of fashion."

"Did either of you consider how much this box weighed?"

My brow furrowed at her remark. "No, why?"

"My dear, in what world is a scarf this heavy?" Diane wasted no time waiting for a response and opened the box.

A thin scarf was placed on top. However, once pushed aside, the contents underneath were revealed.

"Holy shit," I whispered in disbelief. There was money. A lot of money. Stacks of hundred-dollar bills neatly lining the bottom of the box to be precise.

"There's something there!"

I pulled my eyes away from the money to see what Abby was referring to. Following her pointed finger to the lid of the box, Diane removed an envelope that had been taped to the cardboard and handed it to me.

With nervous hands, I slowly removed the card and read the message. In fact, I had to read it over a few times to ensure I was correctly reading what was there.

"What is it?"

"My mother gave me Delilah's address," I said, meeting Abby's impatient gaze. "And it's not where we thought she was."

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dun dun dunnnnn!

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