Jeremiah helped Monica downstairs and I watched from the car, feeling a mix of anger and disgust. Monica suddenly squatted down with a pained look and Jeremiah helped her to a bench with exaggerated care. His actions felt like a cruel reminder of how far we had fallen.
When he returned to the car, his face was a mask of irritation. He frowned as he opened my door, saying, "Monica’s not feeling well. I need to stay with her, so I’ve canceled our reservation. We’ll talk another time. Also, I might need the car later, so you should take a taxi home."
Without waiting for me to respond, Jeremiah unbuckled my seat belt and glared at me, clearly expecting me to get out immediately. I figured he might just drag me out if I didn’t move, so I got out of the car with a smirk and said, "Have a great night with Monica. If it doesn’t go as planned, don’t forget to take your medicine."
Jeremiah’s face flushed red, his expression a mixture of anger and humiliation. "Joanna, when did you become so rude? Monica has stage three heart disease, you know!"