“It’s about time,” Helen muttered, not taking her eyes off the screen. “We had to order pizza. The delivery boy tracked dirt on the porch.”
Leo groaned in frustration as his character died on screen. He threw the controller violently onto the glass coffee table. It bounced with a sharp clatter. He spun around, his face flushed red with a sudden, volatile rage.
He saw me standing in the doorway, pale, wearing hospital scrubs because my clothes were ruined. He didn’t see the grief. He didn’t see the physical trauma. He only saw a broken appliance that had failed to perform its duties.
“Do you know the time, you useless b!.tch?!” Leo screamed, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. He stood up, marching toward the foyer, jabbing a finger in my direction. “My mother and I are starving! I worked all day, I entertained clients, and I come home to a flooded floor and no dinner! Where the hell have you been?”
I stared at him. The man I had once loved looked like a stranger. He looked small, petty, and monstrous.
I leaned harder against the wall, my legs trembling. “I was at the emergency room, Leo,” I said, my voice eerily calm, stripped of all emotion. “I texted you. I called you.”