The Secret Mistress Behind My Eight-Year Relationship
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Summary
It was almost eleven at night by the time Noah finally walked through the front door.
He kicked off his shoes, spotted me sitting quietly at the dining table, and walked over to casually brush a stray lock of hair from my forehead.
"Why are you sitting in the dark?" he asked.
"Saving electricity," I replied.
He let out a soft chuckle and headed into the narrow kitchen, returning a moment later with a steaming bowl of plain oatmeal.
"Eat up. You haven't been taking care of yourself again."
I stared at the bowl. The steam curled into the cold air.
