There weren’t many moments in his life where Jamie felt lost. He approached nearly everything with such careful preparation that every possible eventuality was thought through. It was part of what made him so good at his job, certainly-- that ability to consider the forking path of the future and recognize what needed to be done in each case. 

This was not one of those times. Jamie had never imagined that his wife would suffer a miscarriage while he was off fucking Natalie Meyer. They had lost a child before, two in fact, and they had dealt with it, as difficult as it had been at the time. But this time, his affair made it the perfect, tragic trifecta. In the twelve hours since Evelynn had told him what happened, he had become so consumed with sorrow and guilt that he could think of little else. It had reached such critical levels that Jamie wanted the one thing that he never, ever did-- to talk about it.

After shooting Justin a quick text to ask if he could stop by, he had driven over as soon as he got the okay. Instead of a pristine button down, he had thrown on a battered old Columbia sweatshirt. It was all that he could manage. When Justin opened the door, Jamie looked at him for a moment, smiling weakly. It was unconvincing, and he looked like shit, he knew, but it didn’t matter. “Thanks for replying so quickly,” he said, walking past him into the apartment. Jamie anxiously ran his fingers through his hair as he walked into the living room and flopped down on his friend’s couch.