All fights end with either a warm drink or a bottle of alcohol. If Smith's plan was to exhibit multiple personalities daily, I might as well ignore him and do something nice for myself. Closing the door behind me, I walked over to the elevator and waited for it to open. Looking back at the bedroom, I stepped inside with a heavy heart and pushed the lobby button.
With a baby on the way, there was nothing I could do but meander down the sidewalk and hope for some place cozy to sip on a cup of warmth. If Smith wanted to act like an immature child, then I could do nothing but wait for him to get himself together. I'd done what he and my father requested and they still weren't happy.
I spotted a café, crossed the road, and as if on cue, my stomach rumbled.
The strong scent of coffee and baked goods lingered in the air when I walked into the building. A young woman took my order of cappuccino and a chocolate muffin at the counter.
