Chapter 2

Ace turned around, a flicker of impatience crossing his eyes. "What could you possibly have to do?"

I looked at him. "Ace, from now on, don't make her problems my responsibility."

He was silent for two seconds. Then, as if I'd said something completely unreasonable, he raised a hand and rubbed his brow. "Angel, she doesn't have anyone else. What's wrong with me taking care of her? You're my wife. Isn't it only right that you help me shoulder some of the responsibility?"

Suddenly, I felt like even arguing with him was a waste of energy, so I nodded. "You're right."

Ace's expression softened. He thought I'd given in again.

But I'd only finally understood. In his eyes, I didn't even have the right to say no.

The next morning, Ace was up unusually early. He stood in front of the closet choosing a shirt, his phone lying on the nightstand. The screen lit up.

A message from Peyton came through.

[Ace, I couldn't sleep again last night.]

A photo followed. A hospital IV dressing was taped to her pale wrist.

Ace immediately picked up his phone, his brows drawing tightly together.

[Why are you at the hospital again?]

Her reply came quickly. [It's nothing. I guess moving was just exhausting. Don't worry about me. I can go by myself.]

Ace stared at the message for a few seconds before calling her directly. "Wait for me at the hospital. I'm on my way."

Only after saying that did he seem to remember I was still sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Angel, don't worry about taking her. I'll go."

I lowered my head and put the last document into the file folder. "Okay."

Ace paused while fastening his cufflink. He probably hadn't expected me to agree so readily.

Before, whenever Peyton appeared, I'd always go quiet for a long time, not because I wanted to stop him from going, but because I was waiting for an explanation.

I was waiting to hear, "I'll be back soon" or "You're more important than she is." But I'd waited seven years for those words.

Ace walked to the door, then glanced back at me. "Didn't you have something to do today?"

"Yeah."

"What?"

"Meeting my lawyer."

He froze.

I thought he would at least ask why. But Ace only frowned, as though I had once again complicated his schedule.

"Does it have to be today?"

"We already made an appointment."

He glanced at his phone. Peyton was calling again. The ringing was urgent.

Ace hesitated for a moment, then softened his tone. "Push the lawyer's appointment back. Peyton's alone at the hospital right now. I can't leave her there."

I looked at him. "Ace, today is about something I need to take care of."

"I know." He sighed. "But her situation is different."

"Her situation is always different."

His expression darkened. "Can you stop holding Peyton over my head? She's my mentor, Benjamin Terry's widow. I promised him I'd take care of her. You know that. Why can't you just understand?"

I suddenly remembered three years ago.

The day my dad had surgery, Ace had said the exact same thing.

Peyton's front-door lock had broken that day. She'd cried on the phone, saying she was scared.

Ace had held my hand and promised he'd take her home and then go to the hospital.

But I waited outside the operating room until dawn and never saw him.

Later, he said, "Your dad had doctors there, didn't he? Peyton was alone at home. There was literally no one else to take care of her."

The person being abandoned always had to find reasons to justify the one being favored.

I picked up my bag and walked past him.

Ace reached out and grabbed my arm.

"Angel, what the hell are you trying to pull?"

I lowered my eyes to his hand. That hand had once held mine outside the courthouse, promising he would never make me wait alone.

But afterward, he'd made me wait so many times.

Wait for his calls. Wait for his promises.

Wait for the day he'd finally put me first.

I gently pried his fingers away. "I'm not trying to pull anything. I just don't want to wait anymore."

As the door closed behind me, I heard him call my name.

But the next second, Peyton's phone call came through again. He didn't come after me.