After hailing a cab to the hospital and getting my hand treated, I returned home. The moment I stepped inside, the smell of food hit me.
Stanley was in the kitchen. When he came out holding a bowl of hot oatmeal, he froze for a second at the sight of me before instructing, “Take this in and apologize. Once you do, this whole thing will be over.”
Before I could refuse, he shoved the steaming bowl into my hands. Only then did he notice the bandages on my palm. But his tone was laced with disdain as he said, “Don’t play the pitiful act. Avery, honestly, you’d be better off spending your time reading more, improving yourself. Compared to Darlene, you’re not even close.”
The pain and burn in my wound were nothing compared to the sting in my chest.
Right in front of him, I tipped the bowl over. The porcelain shattered with a sharp crack, and the oatmeal splattered across the floor.
I dusted my hands and said coldly, “Stanley, maybe you should get your brain and your eyesight checked. I don’t need to compare myself to her.”
His jaw tightened, anger flashing across his face.
“Avery, how could you?” Darlene’s voice chimed in from the doorway. “That oatmeal, Mr. Haynes made it himself!”