Thinking about his promises, my heart
twisted. I left the bar, telling the manager |
was sick. Back home, I cried myself to sleep.
Ethan came home after midnight, crawled
into bed, and hugged me. “Sorry, babe, the
boss made us work late.” He knew I had a
second job but not where. I smelled perfume
on him, my nails digging into my palms.
When I didn’t respond, he kissed my cheek.
“Babe, what’s wrong? Are you mad I’m late?” I
L
choked back tears, afraid he’d hear. “No, just
not feeling well,” I finally managed. Until I
knew why he was lying, I had to pretend. He
touched my forehead. “No fever. Go to sleep,
babe. You’ll feel better tomorrow.” I clenched
my jaw, tears silently streaming.
The next day, I left early for work, my eyes
puffy. Ethan texted, Babe, why didn’t you call
in sick? I stared at his message, my vision
blurring. I’m fine now, I replied. Eat breakfast,
babe. Love you. I bit my lip, my heart
bleeding. Ethan, if you loved me, you wouldn’t
be kissing other women. A Ferrari? I couldn’t
even dream of that.
That night, I went back to the bar. I knew he’d
<
be there, claiming he was working late. He
showed up, ordering bottles of champagne
worth thousands. At home, we agonized over
ordering takeout. At restaurants, we only
ordered vegetables, too afraid to splurge on
meat.
I delivered his drinks. He still sat in the center,
the influencer by his side. My coworkers
whispered about the wealthy men in that
room, all deferring to Ethan like he was some
big shot. In my uniform, heavy makeup, and a
mask, hidden in the dim light, Ethan didn’t
recognize me.
