"Oh, Wilfred, you're back! I knew it—you couldn't stay away from our Hildegarde. Good to have you home. But hey, don't get the wrong idea. I got a little banged up, so she's just disinfecting my cuts. There's nothing going on between us, okay?"
Wilfred remained unmoved by Patrick's performance.
When Hildegarde saw Wilfred walk in with their daughter, a mocking smile tugged at her lips.
She lifted her chin, a victor's smugness flickering across her face.
She'd known all along—Wilfred couldn't leave her.
Throw a fit, make a little scene, and he'd come crawling back.
"Since you're here, don't just stand there. Go to your room and get Patrick a fresh set of clothes. His are ruined."
Wilfred ignored her. Holding Penelope's hand, he headed upstairs.
"What kind of attitude is that, Wilfred?"
"Who do you think you're giving that sour face to?"
Hildegarde's temper flared.
"Oh, Hildegarde, don't blame him. He's probably just jealous seeing me with you. Should I leave?"
Patrick put on a wounded expression.
That only made Hildegarde angrier.
"Forget him. We haven't done anything wrong. If he wants to sulk, let him!"
"A man this petty—I really regret marrying someone like him!"