“The dinners.” His voice is quiet and wet with blood and more frightening than any shout. “The kindness. The patience. Being there every time you called, every time HE let you down, every time you needed someone and I was the one who showed up.” He wipes his face with the back of his hand and stares at the red on his skin with disbelief. “The Buenos Aires reservations. The dress. THIS — all of this — I did for YOU, Ember. Everything. And you hold onto HIM? A man who ABANDONED you? Who flew to another country with another woman and didn’t look back?”
And there it is. The entitlement.
The ledger of kindness he’s been keeping, every good deed an entry in a balance sheet that I’m expected to pay with my body and my freedom and my gratitude.
I’ve heard this speech before. Different words, di
