As my son and I walked past, a neighbor pulled me aside, her voice lowered.
"Look over there. That's the director's wife everyone talks about. Isn't she pretty? She and the director are so well-matched."
People turned to look. If I stayed silent, I would look like the fool.
I offered a polite, detached smile. "Yes, they are quite well-matched."
Justin's expression darkened. He strode over and caught my wrist in a hard grip. "What did you just say?"
I calmly pried his fingers off my arm.
"Wasn't it you who said we shouldn't expose our relationship in public?"
He froze, stunned by my indifference. When he spoke again, his voice held genuine grievance.
"Ava, you didn't send a single letter in seven days. Before, if I was gone for even half a day, you couldn't wait to send three."
I pretended not to hear him. Just then, someone from the post station called out to me. An uncle and aunt from my hometown had mailed a package—half a bag of brown sugar.
My throat tightened. I knew how long they must have scrimped and saved to gather something so precious.
I accepted the package, clutching it protectively against my chest, and looked at Justin with wary eyes.