Soon, my phone rang, and it was Phyll. His tone was softer now, maybe because he remembered I hadn’t eaten yet.
“Babe, what do you feel like eating? I’ll bring something back for you later.”
I gritted my teeth against the pain and answered weakly, “I think I’ve got mastitis. Could you take me to the hospital? Or at least come home to watch the baby so I can go myself—”
But before I could finish, his temper snapped.
“Sabrina, will you quit it already? Barbara lost her appetite thanks to you. I had to feed her myself just so she’d eat a few bites. And now you’re faking sick just to trick me into coming home?”
His voice even grew colder as he added, “You, married women, are all the same—paranoid and suspicious. What, just because I’ve got a wife, I’m supposed to give up my friends? If Barbara and I really wanted something more, do you think you’d even matter? You’re ridiculous.”
And with that, he hung up on me.
I let out a bitter laugh and was about to call an ambulance when my phone rang again. This time, it was my brother, sounding cheerful.
“Sabrina, guess what? I’ll be back in the country tomorrow. Surprise! How are things with you and Phyll?”