The doctor had told me if I’d been taken to the hospital sooner, the pup might have been saved. But Ethan wasn’t there. He never was.
Or he was, but he only passed by me.
He stepped closer, likely to check what I was doing, but just then his phone buzzed. A smile tugged at his lips before he turned, heading straight into his studies.
As soon as he was gone, I opened my secret social media account. I wasn’t surprised to see his latest post, one visible to everyone but me.
I shouldn’t have let the cutest assistant in the world down. Promised her dinner after work, but got caught up in a meeting. My bad. I’ll make it up to her.
I liked the post with a cold smile, and in the next moment, an email from Mr. Reed popped up—my new contract. I clicked the link and signed it without hesitation. I was leaving this pack, and Ethan, behind.
The next morning, Ethan left early and returned with bagels from a bakery he knew I liked. I reached into the bag, hoping for a chocolate croissant, but before I could grab one, his hand slapped mine away.
“You like peanut butter-flavored bread, right? Got one just for you,” he said, without meeting my eyes.
I froze. After seven years together, he still didn’t know—or didn’t care—that I was allergic to peanuts. The chocolate croissants weren’t for me. They were for Fiona.
“We’ve been together for seven years,” I said quietly, “and you still don’t know I can’t eat peanuts?”
His expression darkened, frustration clouding his features. “Stop making a fuss. Eat or don’t. I don’t care.”
I didn’t argue. Instead, I walked to the bedroom, grabbed the lace bra, and returned. I handed it to him, my voice steady. “When you see Fiona later, return this to her.”
Ethan’s brows furrowed as he peeked inside the bag. When he saw the lace bra, surprise flickered across his face. He opened his mouth, probably to deny or explain, but when he saw my calm expression, he said, “I’ll tell her to stop leaving things around.”
“Yeah,” I murmured, turning away.
For a moment, Ethan seemed to sense something was wrong. “I can give you a ride to work,” he offered, as if that would fix everything.
Seven years together, and not once had he driven me to work. I had trudged through storms, through snow, without a single offer of help. Yet Fiona, on her very first day, was chauffeured by him like a queen.
Without another word, I grabbed my bag and left.