I just realized: I AM THE WORST! I left you guys hanging since that last chapter because life just got so crazy, but I've had the story written, just sitting here and waiting for some minor edits. Please forgive me. And enjoy these next two chapters. :) <3 Jen

I can't forget what Jessica said to me last night. All this time, I was thinking that Ethan was too good to be true. Now I'm realizing I was right.

He is too good to be true.

I don't think it's his fault; I believe that he loves me but that doesn't mean he realizes what he's getting himself into. I can't let him be chained to me for the rest of his life, only to possibly regret it all and resent me years down the road. All those fears I encountered in Philadelphia are now beginning to make sense. He will have to take care of me. I'm not as independent as I used to be. I will eventually become a burden that's too heavy for him to carry.

My phone rings late in the morning and I'm greeted by Ethan's pleasant voice, along with a sickening tightening in my gut. "Can I take you to lunch today?"

"Umm, I, uh...I'm not really feeling well today. Maybe that's why I was so tired last night. I must have come down with something." I hope that I'm a good enough liar to convince him.

"I'm sorry, angel." My heart almost breaks when he calls me that. "Can I come over and keep you company? I could make you some tea and we can watch movies all afternoon."

"You have to work," I tell him.

"I'll cancel my appointments," he quickly replies.

See? He's already trying to make changes so that he can take care of me. It's only a matter of time before he becomes bitter about having to change his life for me.

"Oh, Ethan, that sounds nice, but I think I'll just sleep it off," I try to convince him.

"Okay, Sarah. I love you, you know. 'Bye."

"Yeah. 'Bye." And for the second time in 24 hours, my face is soaked with tears.

The following day, it's the same story. Ethan calls, I tell him I'm sick and not in the mood for company. He sends me funny little emails all day to cheer me up. Again on Sunday morning, he calls.

"Hello?"

"Hey, angel," he says with a smile in his voice. "Are you feeling better today?"

"No," I blatantly lie to him. Well, it's not entirely a lie, I suppose. I'm not physically ill but I feel like absolute crap anyway.

"Okay," he sighs. "I'll call you later, all right?"

"Yeah, 'bye."

I can't decide whether I'm relieved that he gave up so easily, or if I'm actually a little bit hurt that he didn't push harder. Maybe he's starting to realize that he doesn't want me as much as he thought he did, that his life will be easier without having to take care of me.

I decide to get in the shower since I didn't even take one yesterday. I remove the prosthetic leg and sit down on my shower bench. I let the hot water caress my body for several minutes before I start washing up. The water also washes away the tears that have been cascading down my face since I talked to Ethan.

I wash my hair, scrub my face, wash my body and shave my one good leg, even though no one will ever see it. When I'm finished, I take a long time drying off my body and combing through my long hair. When I look into the mirror, I decide that I'll put on a little makeup. Just because I feel like crap doesn't mean I have to look like it. However, I think it will be best just to let my hair air dry, and then I'll put it up into a bun later.

When I'm done primping, I feel a little better. My parents had told me they were going out for brunch and then shopping, so I decide to venture out of my room, which I had hardly done yesterday. I sit down to watch some TV and soon doze off.

"Where would you like to go today, Sarah?" Ethan asks. He's sitting next to me on the couch. I can't quite remember when he arrived but it doesn't matter.

"Oh, I don't know," I muse. "How about the mall? I could use some new shoes."

"Sure, sounds good," he replies, flashing me his addictive smile.

When we reach the mall, he holds my hand as we walk in. I'm amazed that my right leg feels as good as new. I walk without any discomfort or awkwardness.

The shoe store is huge. I hold Ethan's hand, not wanting to get lost. We pick out three or four pairs of shoes that might work with my prosthesis, and I find a seat. Ethan helps me, but none of the shoes seem to work for me. He offers to go find some different pairs for me to try; I want to go with him, but he refuses, saying, "It will be faster if I go by myself."

I agree that he's right and I sit back to wait. After quite a long time, I start to wonder where Ethan is. I decide to go and look for him. I wander up and down all the women's shoe aisles and see no sign of him.

Where could he have gone?

I start at the entrance of the store and methodically walk up and down every single aisle of the store, but to no avail. Ethan is nowhere to be found.

By this time, I really have to use the restroom. I find one at the very back of the store. I plan to have Ethan paged when I'm finished in the restroom. However, my prosthetic leg malfunctions and falls off right there in the restroom and I can't, for the life of me, get it back on. I really need Ethan, but I'm only in my underwear, having taken my pants off to try to re-attach the prosthesis. I hop over to the main door and open it slightly, hoping to catch sight of a sales associate, hopefully female, who can track down Ethan for me. When I look out into the store, I notice that it's dark and there is no movement, no sound, no nothing. Suddenly the bathroom lights go off, too.

Oh, no, they're closing the store and they don't know I'm in here! I'll be locked in!

Embarrassed but desperate, I begin shouting. "Ethan! I'm in here! I'm still here! I need you! I need you to come and help me!" Soon I'm sobbing along with my yells, "Ethan, please! Come back and help me! I need you!"

Just as I'm about to completely surrender to panic, I feel a hand on my shoulder, shaking me.

"Sarah!"

"Sarah, wake up!" My mother is gently shaking me.

Bewildered, I look at her and then at my dad who's standing behind the couch, looking quite concerned.

"Were you having a nightmare, mija?" My mother asks. "You were whimpering, like you were going to start crying."

"Yeah, I guess I was," I say, rubbing my eyes. "I'm okay, though."

Mom hugs me and says, "Do you want some dinner? We brought Kentucky Fried Chicken."

Greasy chicken and reconstituted potatoes sound perfect, for some reason. Once we're all seated, my dad mentions, "Ethan hasn't been around this weekend...." He pauses, clearly waiting for me to give an explanation.

"Yeah, I've just been tired. I think I'm coming down with something," I explain.

My mom feels my forehead and comments, "You feel a little warm. A fever could explain why you were having a nightmare."

I know the real explanation for my nightmare. I don't want Ethan to eventually realize that he doesn't want to take care of me. He doesn't deserve to be weighed down with yet another needy person that he has to care for.

I have to let Ethan go.

It will break my heart, but it will be what's best for him.

When I awaken on Monday, I convince my mom that I'm not feeling well enough to go to therapy.

"Okay, honey. I'll call the clinic and let them know. Do you want me to take you to the doctor? You've been sick all weekend."

"No, Mamá, I'll be fine. I think that one more day of rest will make me feel a lot better." She looks convinced and then tells me that she's going to go to the school to work on her classroom for a while.

"Where's Daddy?" I ask.

"He's got some big meetings in Bloomfield Hills today and tomorrow. I think he's going to spend the night out there. Are you going to be okay alone for the day?"

"Oh, of course. I'll just make some more tea and sleep for a while."

My mom assures me that she'll only be a phone call away and then leaves to spend some time at school. She always spends a lot of time organizing her classroom in the summer, but she hasn't had much time to do that this year, since she's been taking me to appointments and helping me out at home.

I pull out my laptop and get on Facebook. It's a nice distraction to catch up with a variety of friends. After a few hours of chatting, watching videos and surfing aimlessly, I shut down my computer and pick up my phone. I turned it off after I talked to Ethan yesterday, not really wanting to field any more calls from him. As soon as it turns on, I'm notified of several text messages, all from Ethan.

I love you, Babe.

Sorry, you're sick, Angel.

Thinking of you.

I'm getting worried about you.

You should see a doctor.

I manage to avoid Ethan for at least half of the week, convincing my mom that I'm too sick for therapy but not sick enough to see a doctor. It's not hard to keep up the act since nothing makes me happy. I'm trying to let go of the one thing I love more than anything else in the world, and it leaves me emotionally exhausted.

I wonder if I'll ever feel better.

* * * * *

Yeah, I know she's having a pity party, but she's still going through major emotional and practical changes, so give her a little grace ;)