Anastasia had just stepped out of the bathroom, drying her hair and pacing towards the window when she noticed Dylan's car was not parked in its usual spot. Did he go out? She asked no one in particular.
She went back to drying her hair and soon she changed into one of the new clothes Dylan got her a few days ago. It was a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top.
It had been a week since they returned from the hospital, and from Matteo. Dylan and her were starting to talk to each other more.
She had forgiven him, she had no choice.
In fact, she hadn't mentioned the divorce, though it had been hanging loosely on the back of her mind. She could divorce him, go back to her father and be his puppet again. She could divorce him and run away, truly run away from everybody. Or she could continue to stay with him as his wife, waiting for the day either of their last threads snapped.
But for the time being, Dylan was taking good care of her.
