Tuesday night. Leighton checked her phone. 8:47 PM. Noah's text from an hour ago: *Running late. Don't wait up.*
She stared at the cold dinner on the table. Pasta. His favorite. Made from scratch. Took two hours. Now congealing.
Third night this week. Third broken promise.
She covered the food. Put it in the fridge. Ate cereal standing at the counter. Anger building with each bite.
At ten, she heard his car. The garage door. His footsteps. She stayed in the bedroom. Didn't go greet him.
He appeared in the doorway. Tie loose. Face tired. "Hey. Sorry I'm late."
"You're always late."
"I texted."
"Texting doesn't make it okay."
He frowned. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong? Seriously?" She stood. Crossed her arms. "You promised. No work after eight unless emergency. You've broken that pr
