The house was silent, wrapped in the hush of midnight. When her phone rang Evangeline didn’t even bother to open her eyes. Half–asleep, her hand instinctively found the phone on the nightstand.
By the time she realized it was Soren calling, it was too late.
She’d already answered.
Evangeline sighed inwardly at her automatic response. Years in the Fawkes household had trained her to always be on call–Helena, Soren’s mother, would show up in person if Evangeline dared to miss a call. Over time, she’d learned to sleep lightly, ready to respond at any hour.
And then there was Soren, who, whenever he was abroad caring for Poppy, would call her in the middle of the night for advice. The questions were always about small things: how to ease cramps during a woman’s period, which brand of pads to buy, how to make a nourishing soup taste richer, whether to cook the eggs first or the tomatoes when making an omelet–little details, none of which had anything to do with her.
So Evangeline often found herself yanked out of sleep by Soren’s calls, listening as he tenderly sought her advice to better care for another woman. The first few times, her foggy brain had simply short–circuited. But eventually, she’d grown used to it.
It was through calls like these that she finally understood the difference between herself and Poppy in Soren’s eyes.
Blinking at her phone, Evangeline realized she’d already answered. It was almost certainly about Poppy again. There was no point regretting it now. She pressed the phone to her ear and asked, resigned, “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
Soren stared at his phone, frowning. She’d answered so quickly, it was as if she’d been sitting beside the phone, waiting for his call.
He let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Turn on all the lights in the house,” he ordered briskly. “Come downstairs and open the door.”
Evangeline was still groggy, not quite grasping what he meant. “I’m already in bed,” she explained honestly. The door code hasn’t changed, and the light switches are in the same place.”
She glanced at the clock: three in the morning.
This was something Soren could easily do himself, yet he insisted on having her do
1/2
- it. Was he simply addicted to ordering her around?
But the reason became clear a moment later.
“Poppy’s asleep,” Soren said, voice flat. “My hands are full.”
The words hit Evangeline like a thunderclap. For a moment her mind went. completely blank. Before she knew it, she’d climbed out of bed and walked to the window.
Peeking through the curtains, she watched as Soren got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side. He carefully lifted the sleeping Poppy into his arms. She curled up against him like a kitten, one hand slipping beneath his suit jacket, resting against his chest, even as she slept.
Soren stiffened at her touch, but in the end, he didn’t stop her.
A chill swept through Evangeline.
She couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh.
They weren’t even divorced yet, and Soren was already bringing another woman into their home. So this was what the unsigned divorce papers were about–forcing her to leave with nothing.
“Evangeline, I’m giving you two minutes,” Soren called from outside, his tone edged with impatience.
Snapping out of her daze, Evangeline hurried downstairs. She flicked on the lights as he’d instructed and rushed to the front door..
In her haste, she slammed her knee and little toe into the wall. Agony shot up leg, but she didn’t dare slow down.
her
Soren never showed her any mercy. If he said she had two minutes, then two minutes meant there would be consequences if she was late–her bank cards frozen, public humiliation, he always found a way to make her pay.
Gritting her teeth, Evangeline pulled open the door.
Soren didn’t even glance at her. He carried Poppy straight upstairs, disappea into what had once been their bedroom.
