But he was the one sighing, rubbing his temples as if he was the one fatigued.
“Carson,” I finally said, voice soft, trying not to betray the storm inside me. “You didn’t have to rush here for me after everything you handled today. You look tired.”
It was a test.
A small one.
A chance for him to acknowledge me.
A chance to lie, even.
A chance to say he had done something else instead of going with Alice.
He didn’t take it.
“Yeah,” he muttered, wiping the condensation from the bottle. “I was busy. Had some things to take care of.”
Things.
He couldn’t even bring himself to say her name in front of me.
My breath hitched, but I masked it with a faint smile.
“Did you eat?” I asked gently.
“No.”
One word. Sharp. Dismissive.
Followed by silence, heavy and suffocating.
I lifted an eyebrow, surprised at myself for still trying. “Then let me cook something for you. It’ll only take a few—”
“No.” He cut me off again, not even looking my way. “It’s fine. I’m not hungry.”
His tone wasn’t just cold—it was indifferent.
Detached.
Like I was a stranger trying to make small talk.
I felt my heart sink deeper with every second.
Still, I forced myself to approach him. “Carson… is there something wrong? You’ve been distant lately. If I’ve done something to upset you, please tell me.”
Finally, he looked at me.
But the gaze that met mine wasn’t the one I fell in love with.
No warmth.
No love.
Only irritation—like my existence was a burden he was forced to tolerate.
“You’re overthinking,” he said, voice flat. “You’re pregnant. Just rest and stop worrying about everything.”