When I returned home, Daniel wasn’t back yet. The house was empty, filled only with the scent of what had once been “home.”
As usual, I changed my shoes, washed my hands, and stepped into the kitchen to prepare dinner.
The blade struck the cutting board with a dull, steady rhythm—
over and over, echoing my fractured heart.
I remembered our early days of marriage, when I couldn’t cook and ruined the kitchen on my first attempt.
Daniel had come up behind me, wrapping me in his arms, guiding my hands as he taught me how to chop.
His chin rested on my shoulder, warm breath brushing my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
“Rachel, I’ll cook from now on. I don’t want my princess harmed by smoke and grease.”
Words that once moved me to tears now filled me with nothing but disgust.
Each cut of the knife severed another thread of what had once been love.
The lock clicked. Daniel returned, carrying a delicate cake box, his familiar warm smile plastered on his face.
“Rachel, look what I brought you—your favorite strawberry mousse.”
He entered the kitchen, eyes flickering with a trace of suspicion as he watched me chopping.