ra

aying. Not the main entrance, but the discreet side door leading to th

ce. He got out, looking tired but focused, already talking into his phone. He wa

licker of surprise, then irritation, crossed his

u doing here?" he a

p appointment,"

s pale, thinner, with dark circles under my eyes. H

ithout protest. Resi

n. He drove, his knuckles white on the steering whee

me. "She's being discharged today. I'm moving her i

ck, but she was moving in. Ta

," I

rve him. He glanced at me, frowning

uiet, trying to be whatever he wanted me to be.

ds hovering, ready to catch her if she stumbled. He settled her on the living room sofa, fluffing pillows

r of that now-familiar guilt in h

" I said, m

.. I was worried about Candice, I wasn't thinking straight." H

history with Candice is... compli

old wound. Responsible for her. Obligated to

aid, my voice devoid of inflectio

e. He expected tears, accusations. He didn't

ough came from the l

tant, rushing to her

ld hear their low murmurs from the living room, his vo

bites, reading her favorite poetry, tucking her into the master bed at night while I lay awake in a guest

ad to leave for an

forehead. He turned to the household staff. "Make sure Ms. Ro

is expression stern. "E

t," I p

rtment was quiet for

ad invited a dozen of her vapid, socialite friends over for a "recovery" party. Champagne flo

eal. A small, selfish part of me wanted to let her be, to let her suffer the consequences. But the pa

d turn the music down," I said, my voice bar

nized from the society pages sneered

s around," another one giggled, sho

tting the sharp corner of a marble console table. The same spot Candice

h my skull, and I felt a warm tri

stopped

there, his face a thundercloud, taking in the scene: the pa

is going on h

ut Candice's friend pointed a t

wn here screaming and started