"She's just a young girl, innocent at heart. As long as she helps with your condition, can't you bear with it a little longer?"
Gradually, Theodore's symptoms grew milder.
Six months later, as long as Nanette was around, Theodore could sleep through the night.
To speed up his recovery, she moved into our home.
Whenever Theodore had to travel for business, he brought her along to every occasion. They were inseparable.
Within days, rumors swept through Harborton that Theodore was openly keeping a mistress under his own roof. The gossip was everywhere.
That night, Theodore's face went dark. He immediately had his PR team suppress the story and gave Nanette a stern warning.
But now, everything had changed.
The exclusivity I once held, the special place that was mine alone, had been shattered completely.
The private dining room door sat slightly ajar, and through the gap drifted the whispers of the waitstaff who had served our food moments ago.
"Mr. Morton's wife actually has bad breath! She looks so put-together. Who would've guessed she had a problem like that?"
"Right? Even rich people have embarrassing little flaws. You learn something new every day."
Behind Theodore, Nanette let out a sharp snicker.
Her face was smug, not even bothering to hide it.
Theodore listened to the chatter outside, then glanced at the expressions of his business partners. His face turned to stone.
He looked back at Nanette.
"Nanette. Apologize to my wife."
The smirk slid right off Nanette's face. Her eyes reddened, her voice cracking.
"Me apologize? For what?"
"She already slapped me across the face. What more do you want? For me to beg for forgiveness on my knees?"
Tears spilled down her cheeks in fat, heavy drops, her expression defiant.
"If you think I'm going to apologize, you're dreaming!"
"Didn't you tell me that as long as you were here, I could do whatever I wanted, say whatever I wanted?"
"Fine. If your word means nothing and you're just going to stand by while I get bullied—"
"Then from now on, whether you sleep or not has absolutely nothing to do with me!"
She grabbed her purse strap and headed for the door without a second of hesitation.
"Nanette! Don't you dare!"
Theodore's voice was sharp, but I caught the panic underneath it.
He closed the distance in two strides, took the bag from her hands, and met her tear-streaked face. Every ounce of authority drained out of him in an instant. When he spoke again, there was a coaxing softness buried in his tone, barely perceptible.
"Why are you crying? If you don't want to apologize, then don't."
Then he turned to me. His brow furrowed, his voice edged with impatience.
"Serena, she's just a kid. She doesn't know when to hold her tongue."
"You're going to scare her acting like this. Can you just let it go?"
I stared at his blatant double standard. The corner of my mouth twitched involuntarily. In the end, I said nothing.
Theodore watched Nanette settle back into her seat, then casually speared a piece of fruit from a plate and walked over to me.
He held it to my lips the way he always did, his voice dropping to something gentler.
"Have some fruit. Freshen up your palate."
"Don't be angry. You were the one who told me she was just a young girl, told me to be patient with her. So why can't you do the same?"
"Think of it as doing it for me. Don't hold it against her, okay?"
My chest felt impossibly tight, like someone had stuffed a wad of soaking-wet cotton behind my ribs, pressing the air out of my lungs.
He was right. He wasn't wrong. I was the one who had brought Nanette to him.
I was the one who gave her the chance to get close. I paved the road for her, let her seep into Theodore's life inch by inch until she had burrowed into his heart.
So on all those nights when I wasn't by his side, what had happened between them?
My stomach lurched violently, nausea surging up my throat. I stepped back and knocked his hand away, hard.
"I don't need it."
