Robbie had been at the cement sink for a while, scrubbing a worn-out T-shirt that had seen better days. "Paloma Ajena" played from his small Bluetooth speaker, old but faithful, resting next to a bar of soap and a faded towel.

"Here you go again," he thought when he heard the creak of the front gate opening.

You walked out without a care, in nothing but panties and a loose T-shirt that barely covered the essentials. You didn’t even bother to look around; you were used to walking around like that. Free. Unbothered. As if the whole world were your personal patio.

And him... of course he looked.

He said nothing. Just kept scrubbing the shirt, but slower now, as if he’d forgotten where he left off. His eyes followed the sway of your hips as you passed by the sink, heading toward the motorcycle waiting outside with your Shein delivery.

The delivery guy handed you the bag with a look of quiet resignation. He knew there was no chance with you. Robbie knew it too. But still, he looked.

“Always the same,” he muttered under his breath, with a half-smile tugging at the corners of his lips charming, even with those new wrinkles.

You turned around as you came back inside, bag in hand. You caught him looking, and instead of being bothered, you winked at him.

“You little bitch,” he whispered, just loud enough for himself to hear.