The call connected, and the woman on the screen was me—or at least, she looked just like me.
I stared at the video, my eyes wide. It took a long moment before I realized that this woman wasn’t me. She looked uncannily similar but wasn’t me.
“Belle,” his mother said, “we’re all concerned about you. Don’t be so unreasonable. Come back. I’ll pretend none of this happened.”
Grayson, clearly annoyed, tilted the phone so his mother could see the screen. Then, before the woman on the other end could respond, he hung up.
“She’s fine,” he said coldly. “She’s always been lucky. This is just one of her old habits flaring up again. Ignore her for a few days, and she’ll come to her senses.”
The icy indifference in his voice sent a shiver through me. I couldn’t believe these words were coming from the man I’d shared my life with.
The man I’d shared a bed with couldn’t even tell if the woman on the screen was me.
His blatant favoritism toward Alice and his utter disregard for me were undeniable. He wouldn’t spare even a shred of concern for me, but for Alice, his devotion was shamelessly obvious.
If she so much as frowned or coughed, he’d spring into action as though the sky was falling.
Once, during a thunderstorm, when the rain poured heavily, Alice called him in tears, saying she was scared. Without hesitation, he left my side, even though I was burning with a high fever, and stayed with her the entire night.
The next morning, when my fever had subsided somewhat, I confronted him in anger. But he only looked at me coldly and said, “Stop being unreasonable.”