-KARINA TUMABAGA'S Point Of View-IN THE end of that argument, I still won.He came with me to my first check-up.A small, satisfied smile curved on my lips when I saw him standing stiffly beside me in the clinic, tall and unmistakably irritated, as if every second there scraped against his pride.“You could sit, you know,” I told him lightly. “You look like an idiot just standing there.”He didn’t move like a stone. He remained standing the entire time, arms crossed, jaw tight, his expression sour enough to curdle milk.The doctor finished the examination and handed me a prescription for vitamins.I slid the paper across the table toward him with two fingers.“Why?” he asked flatly. “What am I supposed to do with that?”“Buy it,” I said simply.A long, heavy sigh escaped him. The kind said that he already knew he had no choice.
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