In the living room, there were wedding photos of them on the wall. That was supposed to be my place.
As soon as Max walked in, Rebecca greeted him. She hung her arms around his neck, kissed his left cheek, and then, with a hint of playful reproach, said, "Why did you come back so late? The food's gone cold."
Max embraced her and spoke tenderly, "Didn't we agree you'd wait for me to get home to make dinner? Why didn't you listen?"
I had never seen this caring side of Max before. In the past, I used to cook and wait at home, only for him to come back at midnight, long after the food had gone cold.
I would mumble, "The food's cold. I'll reheat it," and he would rage, throwing out the meal.
"Don't get carried away! No one asked you to wait for me!"
Now, however, he personally reheated the food and brought it back to the table.
After dinner, he carefully massaged Rebecca's ankle.
"Years ago, Violet Lyons injured your foot, leaving you with a lasting problem. Now that you're pregnant, it's even harder. Don't overexert yourself; let me handle the housework."
Hearing this, I desperately circled around them, trying to explain, but they couldn't hear me.