I walk into the empty apartment two hours later, dump my bag on the table and survey the room. I don't even want to be here, I should be at work organizing, instead of coming home to sob into my pillow. I need to get a grip of my life. Wilma is right and all of this has been non-stop, yet all I've done is bury my head in the sand and pushed myself to go to work, never taking the time to absorb it all. I need time to think. Real time to myself, to figure out what I'm going to do.
Do I want to work in Europe?
No … I don't want to leave New York.
Do I want to leave Carrero House?
No. I love working there, it's familiar and stable. Plus, I adore Wilma, Margo, and even Rosalie. I would miss the people I see every day even though we don't interact much. I couldn't leave Sarah. I mean, I know
