Chapter 3
754 Words
Wilson was home. And he wasn't alone. Luisa was with him. Her hand was wrapped in a thick, bulky layer of gauze.
When Wilson spotted me sitting on the sofa, he froze mid-step, then his dark brows immediately knitted into a tight scowl.
"Why are you still here? Aren't you supposed to be at work?"
I'd quit my job two weeks prior to get treatment for my illness. But he'd never once asked about it, never cared enough to check in.
"I quit," I said flatly.
Wilson huffed a bitter laugh. "Quit? Good riddance to that lousy dead-end job of yours anyway. You never made much money at it. Perfect timing, actually. Luisa hurt her hand, so she's gonna stay with us for a while. You're in charge of taking care of her."
I stared at him, completely confused. "What did you just say?"
"I said, you're going to take care of Luisa!" Wilson jabbed a finger at Luisa like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I don't feel comfortable letting her stay alone. Besides, she cut her hand cutting fruit for me. It’s my responsibility to take care of her.
"You're not doing anything anyway. It's just a little extra cooking and cleaning, nothing hard."
Luisa peeked out from behind his back, all wide eyes and timidity. "I'm so sorry for intruding, Queenie. I really don't need this. Dr. Wilson is just worrying too much. I can handle things on my own..."
"What do you mean you can handle it?" Wilson cut her off, his voice soft and dripping with fondness. "You scalded yourself making quick-cook pasta last time! If I let you stay alone, you'd probably burn the whole apartment down before the week is out."
When he finished talking, he spun back to me, his gaze ice-cold. "Go make Luisa a bowl of pasta. Add a poached egg, and leave out any green onions. She hates them."
His high-handed, bossy attitude made me feel less like his fiancée and more like a maid he'd hired off the street.
I stayed rooted to the sofa, not moving an inch. "I'm not doing it."
Wilson stared at me like he'd just heard me speak alien. For five whole years, I’d done everything he asked, never once turned him down for anything.
"What did you say?" His voice dropped to a dangerous growl.
"I said I'm not doing it." I lifted my head and looked him straight in the eye. "Did she lose her whole hand? Her whole leg? Why does she need someone to wait in her hand and foot just for a bowl of pasta? And for the record, this is my home. What gives you the right to let her move in?"
"Queenie!" Fury burned through Wilson. He stormed across the room in three big strides and lifted his hand to strike me. "When did you become so petty? Luisa is a guest, and she's injured! Look at yourself right now. You're acting like a goddamn shrew."
I stared at that hand hanging in midair, and my heart turned completely to ash. "Wilson, if you slap me, we're done. For good."
His hand froze mid-swing. For a split second, he looked shaken by the unyielding resolve burning in my eyes. But that cold arrogance of his snapped back into place a heartbeat later.
"Fine by me! You think I give a damn about marrying you? If you hadn't stuck with me for five years, do you really think you'd ever have been allowed into the Geronimo family's door? Since you refuse to take care of her, then get the hell out of my house!"
I pushed myself to my feet, and a sharp, twisting cramp in my stomach nearly buckled my knees right then and there.
"Fine. I'll go."
It was true, he paid the rent for this apartment. But for the past five years, I've paid for everything else; utilities, HOA fees, groceries, even the damn underwear he wore. Every last bit was on me.
To pinch every penny I could, I hadn't bought myself a single new piece of clothing in two whole years.
And now? He was telling me to get out.
I didn't take anything except my own phone and ID.
When I reached the door, I glanced back one last time. Wilson was leaning down, gently checking Luisa's hand, his eyes brimming with doting concern.
At that exact moment, I let go of every last scrap of feeling I'd ever had for him.
- Writer
