After receiving the thin diagnosis sheet, I stood at the entrance of the hospital, thinking about calling Howard.
I clicked into the contacts interface and then exited.
His number popped up first.
The voice on the other end was as usual low and cold, but it softened a little when he called my name:
"Dorothy, I have something to do tonight, so I won't be coming home for dinner. I might come back late at night, so you should go to bed early."
All my words were stuck in my throat.
"...Okay."
As always, it was brief. The busy tone came from the other end, but I kept the phone to my ear.
The setting sun was as red as blood.
