Childhood sweethearts—they share a special bond, one I couldn't compete with.
I never got to be that intimate, not even with food.
When we were newlyweds, I once tried.
She threw it all away—plate and all.
"You know those fork and spoon carry germs, right? All that swapping spit? What are you thinking?" she had snapped.
I'd never crossed that line again ever since.
It wasn't the germs she despised; it was me.
Meanwhile, her mother was animatedly chatting with the other ladies, boasting away.
Women at this age would never shut their mouths on bragging about their sons and daughters.
Proudly, she declared, "I'm no good with phones, but Wade set this up—see, no ads at all."
Aunt Lucy agreed, "That's smart! I'll get my daughter to set mine up too."
Aunt Susan caught something odd, pointing at the phone's call log, "Who keeps calling you?"
My mother-in-law frowned, dismissing it, "Just scam callers."
"Weird though, they've been saying since this morning that Wade died in a car crash."
"Even claimed it was on the coastal highway."
"What a prank! Wade's on his business trip right now, and there's no way anything would happen to him on that highway/"
Crash—