Back home, Jerica sat on the bed, her iron sliding over yet another one of Jared's wrinkled linen shirts. The hiss of steam filled the room as she worked methodically, the rhythmic motion distracting her from the thoughts swirling in her mind.
The way Jared always left the house looking slightly disheveled—it irked her. She couldn't stand it when he didn't look his best. He never seemed to care about appearances the way she did. It was one of the small things that made her wonder just how differently they viewed the world.
The phone rang on the bedside table, snapping her from her thoughts. Her heart gave a quick jump. Maybe it was Jared, finally calling to check in. Maybe he'd tell her he missed her, that he wanted to come home early to spend time with her.
But when she glanced at the screen, her face immediately soured.
Harold.
