When had this obsession taken root? I couldn’t deny at this point that it was exactly that. An obsession. A need to know where she was and who she was with. A need to see her smile or laugh. A drive to be the one who saw her home safely. The one who she called when she was upset or happy. The man in her life. Hadn’t she been the woman in my life since that day last year, even if she hadn’t known it? There certainly hadn’t been anyone else in my thoughts, or anywhere near me. It had been her. My obsession.
