I froze.
I wanted to march right over and punch him, but Myron had already scurried back into his office and shut the door.
I stood there, fuming.
That bastard Myron! He never did anything helpful, just caused one problem after another!
Steven and I weren’t even divorced yet. If he heard what I said, it would only make him less inclined to go through with it!
But I still didn’t call him.
Was I crazy? Why would I call him just to get an earful for talking trash about him behind his back?
I decided that, aside from finalizing the divorce when he got back, I wouldn’t say another word to him.
The design exhibition was in three days. Participants had to prepare a semi-finished piece and complete the rest on-site.
The three days flew by.
I blocked a lot of numbers: my mother-in-law, who was still in the hospital; the persistent real estate scammers; and even someone claiming to be my aunt. That was a laugh. I didn’t have any aunts.
I poured all my energy into Uncle Julian’s health and the exhibition.
The professor had already seen him, and things were progressing smoothly. They were still running tests, so the surgery hadn’t been scheduled yet.
To my surprise, I saw Horace. His competition had started without my knowing, and he was shining on the big screen. He had already made it to the top ten and was gaining national attention.
He was by far the most handsome contestant, and his popularity was soaring. The media was all over him, and he was even trending online with hashtags like #NewMusicGod and #TheNextBigStar.
He wasn’t allowed to have his phone during training, so I couldn’t contact him, but I was incredibly proud. I voted for him every day on the popularity charts.
“Go, Horace! Go, Zephyra!”
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