This was about as close to an apology as Daniel would get.
But I didn't want to accept it. "I've never liked oatmeal."
With a dark look, he dumped the oatmeal down the sink and left without another word.
For days, Daniel hadn't come home, and honestly, I didn't have the energy to care. After the miscarriage, I felt awful. The doctor said I was weak and needed to focus on healing, so he loaded me up with bitter meds that made my tongue numb. Each bowl of medicine felt like a chore, leaving little room for anything else.
In the past, during our fights, I'd stay up waiting for him, ready with his favorite meals outside his office. Whether it was scorching hot or freezing cold, I'd wait at the door, convinced that if he just ate my food, everything would be okay. It wasn't until I saw a post from Ada that I realized those meals usually ended up in the trash.