Chapter 2

He paused briefly before bursting into laughter. "Seriously? You're divorcing me over pickles? People would think it's ridiculous."

I took off my apron. "That's exactly why."

His smile faded as he noticed my serious expression and he quickly glanced away. "I've barely had time to breathe, and now you're picking a fight over something insignificant?"

Before I could answer, he grabbed the salt I’d just bought and tossed it to me dismissively. "We're out of salt over there. I'll give this to her. Go downstairs and buy another pack. Stop being unreasonable. Don't act like a stereotypical housewife."

Without a second glance, he turned and walked out the door. Our daughter ran to him, hugging his leg, pleading for him to stay and play with her. He picked her up, and they left together.

"Mommy's being petty, isn't she?" he asked.

Following his cue, our daughter nodded. "Yeah, Mommy's the pettiest. She never lets me have candy. I still prefer going to Aunt Leighton's."

A thousand tiny needles seemed to prick at my heart, a dull and piercing pain. Just like that, I lost the desire to make spiced honey cake today.

In a former life, I had been naïve. Whenever something ran out, I’d rush to restock, wearing myself out, only to receive no thanks. Meanwhile, my husband was giving foot massages to another woman. Our daughter, influenced by someone, would come home and call me names to my face.

Those days were over. In this life, I would live for myself!

I was about to make myself some simple pasta to regain energy when suddenly, Valerie pulled my hair, bringing tears to my eyes. Her grip was strong as she demanded her spiced honey cake, shoving my face against the table with force.

"Norah, I want spiced honey cake! I want it now!"

After a few cries, the old woman suddenly widened her eyes and collapsed to the floor with a thud.

Ignoring the pain, I dashed downstairs to find Dean. "Dean, your mother fainted! Get her to the hospital!"

Dean’s voice came from behind the closed door. "Enough, Norah. It's just pickles. Is this necessary? Fine, tomorrow I'll buy you several pounds to make up for it."

Desperate, I kicked the door hard. "Your mother is about to die, and you have time to make pasta with someone else?"

He sighed again, sounding fed up. "You're really willing to make up anything to get me back. I just left, and she was perfectly fine. There's no way she just fainted. You're clearly making excuses, clouded by jealousy."

My heart slowly grew cold.

I didn’t argue or shout anymore. Quietly, I returned to the house and dialed 911. During the twenty-minute wait, countless thoughts raced through my mind, only to dissolve into a single sigh that vanished into the air.