“Cupcake,” he says, his tone gentle. “I don’t want your pity.” I glance at him, taking in the gray sweatpants he’s wearing and the white T-shirt that showcases his muscular arms. Just looking at him hurts. I hate that I want him. I hate that I’m his wife, yet I’m the person he least wants to see. “Or is it not pity you’re offering me? Let me guess, you agree that I should call your precious Hannah, don’t you?”
