He handed me a box of art books. The same limited-edition ones I mentioned a month ago. He’d remembered, of course. He always remembered the small things. The big ones? Never.
“Baby,” he said softly, wrapping his arms around me. His hand went to my stomach, automatically. “How’s the baby doing? Tomorrow’s your checkup. I’ll come with you, okay?”
I stepped out of his hold. “No need. You don’t have to anymore.”
His voice dropped, confused. “What do you mean? Are you feeling sick?”
One of the maids spoke up from behind us. “Sir, Miss Rosie hasn’t been eating much these past few days.”
He immediately loosened his tie. “I’ll cook. You’ll eat, alright? Just a little. I’ll make your favorites.”
He said it like I was a child. Like if he was gentle enough, I’d forget the bruises his indifference left on me.
He turned to the maids before leaving. “Watch her. Make sure she doesn’t bump into anything.”
The maids giggled when he walked out.
“He’s so caring.”
“She’s so lucky. That’s the kind of husband every woman wants.”