Ethan glanced at the pills and the cake.
“Whose birthday is it? Yours?” he asked,
frowning.
I quietly put the pills away and tossed the
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cake in the trash. “A friend’s,” I said flatly.
He seemed relieved. “Your birthday’s not till
September 28th. It’s only the 8th.
Five years of marriage, and he still got my
birthday wrong. Ironically, he never forgot
hers.
He sat down next to me and handed me a
small teddy bear. “Chloe told me to give this
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to you. She was really upset by your passive-
aggressive comment. Just apologize to her,
Olivia.”
The bear had a Mercedes logo
probably a
freebie with the car and a greasy stain. “I
don’t want it,” I said.
His brow furrowed. “What’s your problem? She’s being the bigger person, apologizing, and you can’t even say sorry?”
He tried to pull me up, presumably to force
me to call Chloe. His grip was tight, and my
injured right leg slammed into the coffee
table. He’d scalded me a week earlier,
carrying a bowl of hot oatmeal while texting
Chloe. He hadn’t been looking, and the entire
bowl landed on my foot, taking a layer of skin
with it.
He saw the fresh blood seeping through the bandage. “I’ll take you to the hospital.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
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In the car, Chloe’s chirpy voice filled the
speakers through the Bluetooth. “Welcome back, my CEO! Work hard, make that money
for me! ”
