She was tucking her phone back into her pocket when Ambrose’s name lit up the screen. He was calling.
“Where are you? Why aren’t you home? It’s late already. Why haven’t you come back yet?” His voice carried a mix of urgency and subtle reproach.
Tonight, he had turned down Scarlett’s invitation, a rare occurrence, and returned home early, intending to spend time with Hazel. But when he walked through the door, the one who always waited for him was nowhere to be found.
She hadn’t answered his calls or texts, and his worry had escalated to the point where he almost called the police.
Hazel glanced at the clock, feeling a knot tighten in her chest.
It was 8 PM.
Ambrose had always been one to stay out late, sometimes not returning until the early hours or, worse, disappearing for the night.
Every time, Hazel had waited in silence, leaving a light on for him.
And if he had been drinking, she would fight off sleep, rising to make him soup, hoping it would sober him up.
But what had Ambrose ever done for her?
Hazel couldn’t recall a single thing. Her patience thinned, and her tone became sharper.
“Can’t I have a life of my own?”
It was the first time she had ever dared to speak back to him.