"You should understand—" His tone carried a hint of laughter, his features softening in a way I hadn't seen directed at me in years. "She's very hard to coax when she's upset, Mrs. Sanchez."
On the screen was a matching profile picture. A couple's avatar. Hers paired with his.
The chat showed her latest messages:
[How much longer are you going to babysit that old hag?]
[You said she has her own boyfriends anyway. Or what—you decided you like older women now? Finally ready to get back together with your geriatric wife?]
She mocked my age without a shred of shame.
And Otis? He found it adorable. His reply made my stomach turn:
[Someone's jealous over nothing.]
A video call came through.
The sudden ringtone shattered the tension between us. Otis gestured at the screen apologetically. "You see, Mrs. Sanchez? I really am busy."
He answered it right in front of me.
Her voice poured out—syrupy, petulant, dripping with the confidence of a woman who knew she'd already won.
"Otis."
"I'm already outside your gate."
"You have three seconds."
"If you don't come out—"
"We're done!"
I listened to her ultimatum, watched Otis's expression flicker with something like panic before smoothing into indulgent warmth.