(Sean's POV)
I stare at the screen. Her name blinks out. The call log reads thirty-eight seconds.
You should understand.
I don't understand. Is she saying she's tired of my family? The dinners. The mockery. Ivy's comments. My mother's contempt. Six years of sitting at a table where the only person who could have stopped it kept cutting his steak.
That's fixable. I can talk to Ivy. I can talk to my mother.
If she's tired of Hannah being in the room. Tired of watching me speak up for another woman in her presence.
That's fixable too. I can draw a line. I can —
But if she's tired of me. The version she married. The one who accused her of scheming before she said a word, who read her devotion as positioning and her silence as plotting and her eczema cream as personal.
That's — harder.
