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Still “convalescing,” I was lying in bed when Edna delivered dinner: chicken noodle soup and some of her crusty homemade bread, with more tea (this time decaf) and a pitcher of water. “Can I get you anything else before I leave?”

“No, thanks, Edna. You’ve already done so much for me today.”

“I just hope you’re starting to feel better.”

“Yes. Better already.”

“That’s how you know the medicine’s working. And a little chicken soup never hurt either.”

After she left, I got up and walked around the room. Still sore but I knew by morning no one would be able to tell.

I ate the soup but I could tell it had come from a can and not Edna’s kitchen. I imagined she bought it while she was at the store earlier because, after having been in the pantry, I could attest that there wasn’t much processed food—some crackers maybe but most of what was in there was pasta, beans, flour, tomato sauce, sugar…all items that would be used to make meals mostly from scratch. While I respected that, sometimes my father and I would buy a frozen pizza or a few boxes of macaroni and cheese—and I loved them because they were easy.

Soup, however, wasn’t one of those things I bought regularly.

Still, I managed to eat the entire bowl along with the bread and I found it filling. I planned to take a bath and then I was going to read the remaining few pages of what I was calling the pregnancy journal—Sinclair’s mother’s account of being pregnant—and try to start another before calling it a night.

When there was a sharp rapping sound on my door, I nearly jumped out of my skin. That wasn’t Edna here to retrieve the dishes. Besides already having left for the evening, her knock was much softer.

It had to be Sinclair.

Still, I asked, “Yes?”

“May I come in?” he asked.

“Yes. The door’s not locked.”

When he entered, I was surprised. His face was not the same as it had been this morning when he’d playfully slapped me on the bottom. Instead, his eyes were cold and angry. Had he known I’d snuck out of my room to fetch the laptop despite his admonition not to? Or did he know that I’d had Edna take me to the clinic under false pretenses?

I could explain it all.

But the laptop wasn’t where he could see it, because I’d hidden it, along with the charging cord, under the mattress after I finished the application, and I’d find a way to sneak it downstairs tomorrow. Edna had never seen it, so he had no reason to be angry about that.

Likewise, I could explain the trip to the doctor.

But it wasn’t either of those things.

“I received your text message,” he said coolly.

“Good. I just need to pay—”

“Don’t ever send me a text again unless it’s an emergency.”

I found that weird—but, for the most part, I was growing used to obeying his wishes. “Okay. I just thought—”

“And I’m just telling you.”

I was struggling because this was starting to feel like I was speaking with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was the man who’d made love to me the night before. Would it always be this way?

Or did that mean what I’d been afraid of? That last night was the only time he’d hold me in his arms?

I could cry about it later—but, for now, I had questions. “Okay. Sorry. It won’t happen again. I just wanted you to know I needed to pay to have the application processed.”

Reaching into his pocket, he took out a card and handed it to me. It was a credit card in his name. “You can use this to pay for whatever you need in terms of education. For now, it has a limit of five-hundred dollars.”

I wouldn’t need that much for the application fees or transcripts, but it was nice to know I had a bit of a cushion.

“Thank you.” And, despite how uncomfortable his presence currently made me, I had something else I had to say. “I also wanted to ask about my father’s treatment in October…if you’ve made arrangements for him to get to Colorado Springs.”