“Help! Scott!” Jasmine’s voice — sharp, desperate.
I didn’t even get to feel what betrayal tasted like because Scott didn’t spare me another glance. He spun on his heel like I wasn’t even there. “Jasmine! I’m here! I’m coming!” I heard him shout as he disappeared into her room.
All I could do was stand there, staring at the empty space where he’d just been. Then I laughed. A bitter sound, more air than humor. I didn’t know whether I was laughing at him or myself anymore.
From the room, I could hear him: “It’s okay, Jasmine, I’m here. I’ll call the doctor, don’t worry.” Then, loud enough for the whole hallway to hear: “Nadine! Call the doctor!”
Like I was a maid. Like I wasn’t the woman who’d wasted years pretending to be his wife. I turned to walk away but Jasmine’s weak, syrupy voice called out, “Nadine! Wait, please come here!”
Before I knew it, I was at her bedside, staring down at her delicate, porcelain-doll face, the one that had always won people over so easily.