"You really divorced Emma, Ethan?"
It was barely morning when Grace’ call yanked Ethan out of bed.
"Yeah, what about it?"
"What do you mean 'what about it'? You little rascal, seriously? Just ignored everything Mom said, huh? Don’t tell me you’re really gonna marry Clara? I swear, I ran into—"
Click. Ethan hung up without hesitation, annoyance written all over his face.
Seriously, what’s wrong with this world? Why does everyone act like Emma is some saint?
He splashed some cold water on his face at the sink, not really caring where it landed, threw on a casual jacket, and stepped out the door.
Work had been insane these past two months—so much so he almost forgot what day it was.
***
Out in the suburbs of Riverlyn, at the serene and quiet Prestige Sanatorium.
