Donald’s fingers clenched, fumbling the small wrapper. He watched in horror as it dropped, slipping through the heating grate in a one in a million shot.
“Son of a—”
“Donald, are you okay in there?” his wife asked from the other side of the bathroom door.
“Yeah, I’m almost done,” he answered, then glared at the heating grate.
That was his last one, and he needed it if he was going to please his wife. Few things set her off than his end of the day cigarette, but now…
It wasn’t his fault his last nicotine patch was gone.