Lina was sitting on the unmade bed when Phil emerged from the bathroom naked, his right hand and lower arm encased in gauze and some type of temporary brace. He ignored her as he stopped before one of the open suitcases and pulled out a pair of boxer briefs, awkwardly stepping into them as he tried to maneuver with one hand.

“How bad is your hand?”

“I’m no longer your concern. You made your feelings perfectly clear last night.” He walked towards his wardrobe.

“Did you see the pictures, Phil?” she asked, following. “Did you see my nice birthday gift?”

“I did.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“Yes. That’s it.” He pulled a pair of jeans from a shelf and turned his back to her.

“You’re a bastard!”

He slowly turned, his eyes meeting hers. “Maybe I am, but I never walked into her apartment with her while you were standing on her front porch. I never left you alone with a broken and bloodied hand to drive a manual transmission to the ER. And I sure as hell never made you lie awake all night wondering how many times I was fucking her.” He breathed in, and Lina could see tears in his eyes. “Congratulations—you broke my heart.” He turned away from her. “Now leave me the fuck alone.”

She left the room and leaned back against the wall, covering her mouth to stifle a cry. She felt wracked by guilt at the memory of her night with Nick. She’d shared dinner and a bottle of wine with another man while her husband sat in an emergency room by himself. And then she had curled up against his body and slept like a baby while Phil suffered alone. He didn’t deserve her loyalty. He had gotten another woman pregnant, and yet she felt sick at the hurt she saw in his eyes.

She went down to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee before sitting down at the island. Her eyes focused on a bag with a bottle of pills and papers inside. She pulled it towards her and looked through the contents. He had been given a bottle of Percocet for pain. She read through his hospital release papers. His hand was broken in three places and would probably require surgery. She covered her mouth. He wouldn’t be able to ride his bike or swim. And he certainly couldn’t drive his car. How he managed to drive himself home she couldn’t imagine.

“Take my car,” she said when he came into the kitchen over an hour later, carrying two bags, one slung over his left shoulder, the other in his hand. “Until your hand is better you should just drive the SUV.”