Andrew roared at me:
“You vile woman! Chloe is allergic to dog hair, and you’re collecting it to hurt her again?”
Again? How laughable. The supposedly rational Andrew lost all reason once Chloe was involved.
Whatever she said, he believed.
When Chloe woke up, she whined for Andrew to help her get dressed. His tender, child-coaxing tone was something I had never once heard directed at me.
Andrew ordered me:
“Chloe’s clothes are all torn. Go fetch the custom dresses that arrived a few days ago.”
I whispered in protest, “Those are mine. They won’t fit her.”
“I had them altered to her size already.” Andrew’s eyes shone with pride, as if waiting to see me crumble.
Chloe, dressed like a colorful butterfly, now had a wardrobe full of luxury couture, each piece both costly and perfectly fitted.
Andrew, who never posted photos on social media, now took shot after shot of Chloe.
His caption: The true lover isn’t beside you but forever in your heart.
After tidying up Buddy’s belongings, I hurried to the clinic.
But before I could leave, Chloe suddenly gasped:
“My necklace! It was right here yesterday!”
“I left it here, how could it just vanish?”