Nina, too caught up in her own reminiscing, didn't notice the shift in Camila's expression—the way her teasing smirk faded just a fraction, the way her hands tensed ever so slightly at her sides. She just kept talking, too wrapped up in the past to realize that Camila had gone quiet.
"You used to call me all the time back then." Nina went on, her voice softer now, more thoughtful. "You'd tell me how hard it was, how you were struggling to take care of everything all by yourself while that bastard husband of yours was off doing...whatever the hell he thought was more important than his pregnant wife."
Her fingers curled slightly, the old anger bubbling up as if no time had passed at all. "You told me how he barely helped. How he'd leave for work early, come home late, and act like nothing had changed."
"...Meanwhile, you were stuck alone, sick as hell, craving god-knows-what at god-knows-what-hour, dealing with swollen feet, back pain, and a baby kicking you from the inside out."
