When his car passed by, I had only been knocked down by the dog and hadn't been bitten yet.
If he had gotten out of the car then, maybe our child could have been saved.
But there were no ifs.
After he left, I was bitten three times by the rabid dog, the most serious wound needing a circle of stitches.
Because a piece of flesh there was almost torn off by the dog.
"Suit yourself," he said.
Rejected by me for the first time, Connor was not happy.
But as soon as he turned, his phone rang.
Seeing the name on the phone, he stopped frowning.
"Since you're injured, I'll sleep in the guest room tonight," he said.
I had no objection to this.
But as I passed by the guest room door on my way back to my room, I heard low laughter coming from inside.
"Okay, this is on me. I'll make it up to you tomorrow."
Connor's tone was gentle and affectionate, a treatment I had never experienced.
In my memory, the only smile Connor ever gave me was a mocking one when he was angry.
Other than that, he was always indifferent toward me.
It didn't matter now. I didn't care anymore.
The next morning, I prepared breakfast for one.
Milk and a sandwich were just healthy and convenient.