He snorted, thumbs tapping the screen. “Easy. December 5.”
A bitter laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “That’s not my birthday. That’s Nadia’s.”
His fingers froze mid-tap. He looked up, confusion flashing across his face before it twisted into irritation. “So what? Why are you being dramatic again, Lauren? It’s not that important.”
Not that important. Three years of marriage, one lost child, and he didn’t even know the day I was born. But deep down, I knew — he could recite every detail about Nadia without missing a beat. Her birthday. Her favorite food. The exact shade of lipstick she wore to bed.
Me? I was just… here.
I looked away, voice hoarse. “It never mattered, did it?”
He didn’t answer. He just tossed the phone back onto the side table, already bored. “Never mind that. Get up. You’re being discharged today.”
I blinked. “What? I’m not ready — I can’t even walk properly yet.”
“So what?” His tone turned sharp. “You’re needed at home. Your mother’s birthday party needs arranging. You know how she is, and Nadia and I don’t have time to handle it.”