The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself novel Chapter 166

Penelope had just lifted her teacup. If she had taken a sip, she would have sprayed it everywhere.

The boy stuck out his tongue. “What? It’s just a joke. My friends and I say stuff like that all the time. But he didn’t like it. He told me to stay away from him.”

The fact that the YoYo robot was sent to their table, rather than Timothy himself, was probably a clear sign he wanted nothing to do with them.

Penelope ordered two dishes, and the boy ordered two more. But as soon as the food arrived, he got a phone call and had to leave in a hurry.

“My friend is losing a basketball game against the varsity jocks so badly he’s about to cry uncle. I’ve gotta go save him!” he said, dashing out the door.

Only after he was gone did Penelope realize she’d never even asked his name.

YoYo delivered the first dish, but it wasn’t equipped to place it on the table. That still required a human server. Another waiter brought it over.

Penelope watched her brother. Dressed in the restaurant’s uniform, he moved efficiently between tables, serving food, refilling drinks, and clearing dishes.

At one table, a child knocked over a teapot and got a minor burn. The parents, frantic, immediately began yelling at Timothy, blaming him for placing the pot too close to their child.

Timothy apologized profusely, but they continued to berate him for several minutes.

It seemed like a common occurrence. Once the verbal assault was over, Timothy showed no emotion and simply went back to work.

Penelope’s heart ached for him, and she lost her appetite.

She was nine years older than him. After their mother gave birth to Timothy, Penelope, already a young girl, took on much of his care. Her grandmother, Mrs. Anderson Sr., helped, but she tired easily. So, after school and homework, Penelope would take over, playing with him, teaching him to talk, and helping him take his first steps.

She had practically raised him, and back then, they had been incredibly close.

Their bond shattered the year she insisted on attending college in Orenth against their mother’s wishes. The stress made their mother ill, and Timothy had blamed Penelope ever since.

Over the years, as she contacted home less and less, the distance between them grew into a chasm.

By the time the fourth dish was ready, all the other waiters were busy, so Timothy had no choice but to bring it himself.

“Timothy, I was so glad you called me,” Penelope said softly.

He pursed his lips. “Thanks for your help today. It won’t happen again.”

That night, just as Penelope had settled into bed, the doorbell rang.

She went to answer it and found Theodore standing there.

He smelled strongly of alcohol. The moment he saw her, his eyes turned bloodshot. He grabbed her arm and pulled her inside.

“What’s wrong?”

Once inside, she tried to get him a glass of water, but he pinned her against the wall. His grip on her waist was tight, his breathing heavy and ragged.

“Someone drugged my drink.”

“What?”

He pressed his body against hers, his hot breath fanning across her face.

“Help me.”