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Pam was unsure of the path that had led her to this point in her life. She glanced at the mirror above the chest of drawers and scarcely recognized the pale, drawn face that stared back. Her eyes were red and puffy from the seemingly non-stop tears that always began as soon as she walked into her empty apartment.

Seven months ago, she had been happy. She was busy planning her wedding and – and Jim was still there.

Jim.

His ghost still haunted her thoughts to the point where any other idea was futile. How could she have been so blind? She could still feel his lips pressed so hopefully on hers. Pam brushed the tips of her fingers lightly over her own as if to hold that feeling and seal it in. Her eyes filled with more tears as she recalled her exact words that night. How could she have been so stupid to lie to a man she loved and loves still to protect the heart of a man that had long since stopped making her feel special? She could clearly see the look on Jim’s face as it crumpled again. The tears flowed free again as she saw him walk out that night in her mind.

And here she was, sitting alone, in the middle of her bed crying. It had become her Friday night ritual of late. Pam saw no use in trying to move on because Jim was it.

He was it.

That wasn’t to say that she hadn’t tried. There was that one terrible date with Kelly’s neighbor Alan. But it only affirmed her belief that she had missed her one chance at real happiness in life by dismissing Jim. Pam still put on the happiest face she could muster during the day, but she was sure everyone could see through it. She went through the motions mechanically, unable to make herself put effort into anything.

There was that period right after she broke it off with Roy where she was optimistic that it would be okay. She knew that Jim knew because she saw Phyllis’s email to him on her desktop. She had waited and was still waiting for him to call. She knew it was idealistic and silly, but Jim was supposed to be her knight in shining armor. Plus, she didn’t think that she could handle it if she called him and he said no.

But he hadn’t. He had not called, emailed, instant messaged, or attempted to contact her. And when she realized it, her hopes broke away. She was adrift on a sea of loneliness and grief, and she lacked the motivation to paddle back to sanity and real life.

And so this was it. She came home and spent her weekends crying. Sometimes she imagined where Jim was now. Right no, for example, he was probably out having a drink with friends. Or maybe he was meeting a girl. A girl who was infinitely more beautiful, witty, and intelligent than Pam would ever be. A girl that would realize what she had in Jim and wouldn’t balk if he professed his love for her. Pam was sure that this girl wouldn’t cling to her loser fiancé out of insecurity and habit; she would tell Jim she loved him back.

These thoughts were made more painful by the knowledge that she could be that girl for him. She was scared and unprepared before, but given the chance, she could make him happy.

She glanced outside the foggy windows and observed the gray slush that surrounded the edge of the apartment complex’s parking lot. It was two weeks until Christmas, but Pam found herself unable to muster any sort of Christmas cheer. Christmas, along with just about everything else, only made her think of Jim. Had it really been almost a year since that last Christmas?

She thought about that last office Christmas party and the chaos that ensued from Michael’s six-year-old mentality about presents. She loved that leaf green teapot; it had been the most thoughtful present she had received in years. It never failed to remind her of the happier times in her life. Times that had included Jim. She felt the urge to start crying again but fought them back.

Pam wrapped an old, ratty afghan around her shoulders and walked into the kitchen. She got down the necessary elements for a cup of tea and put the water on to boil. She knew that she couldn’t go on like this forever. The dull ache within her swelled to the point where she thought her heart would burst. As she adjusted the teapot on the eye, Pam glanced at the easel sitting in the corner of her small living room.

It was a painting that Pam had been working on for the past month, consuming almost every spare moment she had. She walked over to it, silently critiquing it. It was a black and white self-portrait nearing completion. A few small details, and it would de finished. The Pam in the picture was nothing like present-day Pam. This Pam was glowingly happy and smiling at the world. At that moment, she knew exactly what was missing, and with a few small touches of the brush, the portrait was complete.

Complete.

The kettle began to whistle, and Pam jumped. She hitched up her afghan and walked to the stove. She quickly fixed her tea and began rifling through the drawers, looking for a pen and some paper.

The portrait had made her realize the course of action that she had to take. And as she shuffled back to the bedroom with the supplies, she began to formulate the hardest thing she’d ever have to write.