The next morning, I woke up and drove my car to our penthouse in the city. As I arrived at the top floor, I couldn’t help but sigh as I looked around. Lucas was waiting for me inside. He was sitting in the dining area, his dark expression indicating he was mad at me.
He looked like a toddler waiting for his mommy to come home. He stood up and asked, “Why don’t you care for me anymore?”
“What are you talking about? I just came home, and you asked me this question?” I asked calmly, then put my bag on the table.
The room filled with tension, and he asked, “You were not like this before.”
“I care, Lucas. But I’m busy. I have a life, too. I work all day and night, and I’m so tired... I want you to understand that." My voice trembled, frustration seeping through my words. He had no idea that those words showed how I really felt about him.
“This isn’t about you being tired! This is about you not caring me anymore!”