Days went by. Since our quarrel, we hadn't spoken a single word to one another, but it was mutual. He refused to talk, and I no longer had the motivation or the stamina to comprehend his nonsense.
He was testing my patience, but because he was being a blustery a$$, there was nothing I could do. I couldn't get away even if I wanted to because he would find me. He would much rather kill me than get a divorce.
My stomach tightened as regret flooded my heart. Why did I commit to staying? Dumb move. Could I shatter it? The issue was that I still yearned for him. We hadn't had sexual contact in seven days. The sexual tension quickly became out of control. Considering that he slept in the adjacent room, it was torture. Did he also want me?
I started to wonder about his mother's condition. I thus snuck away one day when Smith was at work and drove the Bentley to the hospital.
