And certainly no playacting for a crowd.
I snuggled deeper into the blankets and murmured, "Sure, childhood friends, nothing more."
He seemed pleased with that and lightly patted my head, "You always get it, don't you?"
Just friends?
I've never bought that line—not for a second.
It's like the storm that brews beneath a calm lake.
Like the secrets in the box Aaron keeps in our closet.
Hidden away, but causing havoc the moment it's opened.
His phone rang before I could say another word.
"Aaron, darling, Emma's inconsolable. Can you come over?"
"You have a way with her. She'll calm down if you're there."
With a grin, he agreed immediately.
I turned away, indifferent.
Noticing it, he approached, "Babe, Emma's been tough tonight, and I don't want Lily dealing with it alone. Go to sleep; no need to wait up."
He kissed my cheek and hurried out.
Who knows how many nights he's called away by Lily.
Sometimes, I feel like I'm the outsider tearing apart their perfect little world.
The next day, I skipped making breakfast for the first time ever.
I despise cooking, honestly.
I only learned because Aaron insisted homemade was healthier than any takeout.
Five years of daybreak devotion, all for him.
But I'm done.