Charlie's eyes lingered on my pale face before he spoke, his tone laced with annoyance, “If you were back, why didn’t you just come in? Was there any reason for you sitting out here like this? Could this act of yours somehow make you feel better?”
My voice was hoarse as I walked past them, "The door was locked. I couldn’t get in.”
The odor of their reunion that stuck with them disgusted me. I ignored the fleeting guilt that crossed Charlie’s face and heard him say softly, “I’ll take Miranda home first. It’s late and it’s not safe for her to be out alone.”
I passed care and only hummed indifferently before heading straight to the second floor. All I wanted was a hot shower to warm my body and the comfort of my bed for a good night's sleep.
I was also too exhausted to dwell on the fact that Charlie was worried about Miranda’s safety but didn’t seem to care about his wife being in danger if she came late at night.
Nor did I have the energy to question what Charlie and Miranda did in the apartment, why the door had been locked, why they had been showering and drying hair together, or why their scents clung to each other.