Chapter 2

Ever since Nora said that, Ian kept his jaw clenched in silence until they reached the airport drop off.

He called out to her just as she was about to head inside. "You have a minute, right? Stay and talk to me."

He rolled the window halfway down and chain smoked three cigarettes in total silence.

Nora just sat quietly in the car, keeping him company.

It wasn't until soft sobs started filling the car that he finally pulled his gaze away from the world outside.

He tossed his cigarette and pulled a tissue from the box, gently handing it to her.

"Why are you crying?" Ian asked gently. "If it's because Stella made you feel bad earlier, I apologize on her behalf."

She shook her head vigorously, dropping her gaze even lower. "It's not your wife. Ian, if I hadn't taken matters into my own hands, would you two be fighting like this? You can yell at me or hit me if you want."

Ian stayed silent.

Just when Nora thought Ian was truly harboring resentment toward her, he suddenly spoke. "That baby couldn't be kept anyway. I don't blame you."

*****

Ian didn't get back until six that evening.

Since he was the reason Nora missed her morning flight, he helped her buy a new ticket and took her out to eat.

He didn't relax until he watched her actually board the plane.

It took me three hours to walk home. My body was still recovering, and the exhaustion knocked me out until nightfall.

When I woke up, the blisters on my feet had been popped and bandaged. Next to the first aid kit lay his discarded suit jacket and watch.

Walking downstairs, I heard noises coming from the kitchen.

Ian was dressed in gray loungewear, holding a bowl of fresh soup.

He looked up at me. "You're awake. Come eat."

I hadn't eaten a thing all day and was starving.

But one glance at the spread on the table left me with nothing but a self deprecating feeling. All other emotions were simply gone.

Seeing me hovering, Ian pulled out a chair for me and set out the silverware himself.

Noticing that I was only sipping the slightly sweet soup, he piled my plate high with food. I didn't even look at

"I'm done," I said.

Ian put his fork down too.

He closed his eyes and massaged his tight brow, letting out a long sigh. "Stella, I am so exhausted. Can we please stop fighting?"

I looked at him with complete indifference. "I'm not fighting."

"But you haven't touched a single bite of the food I made." Ian looked genuinely hurt.

It was the exact same expression I had worn so many times before.

I laid it out for him, point by point. "I don't eat spicy food. I hate cilantro. I don't eat mushrooms. And that soup is way too sweet for me."

Out of the three dishes on the table, not a single one was meant for me. I couldn't even force myself to stomach them if I tried.

Ian clearly hadn't expected that answer.

Panic flashed in his eyes as he blurted out a string of apologies. "Stella, I had no idea. I'll go remake it right now."

Without waiting for my reply, he headed straight for the kitchen.

I stopped him with a calm voice. "These are all Nora's favorites. You felt sorry for the poor girl eating instant food, so you started giving her half your lunch every day.

"You forgot what I liked a long time ago. Don't bother cooking, Ian. It's just going to end up in the trash anyway."

Ian didn't listen to me. For the next week, he cooked every single day.

Even though he tried so hard to remember my preferences, every single meal he made ended up being Nora's favorites.

After I quietly ordered takeout yet again, Ian finally ripped off his apron.

The usually composed man ran his hands through his hair in pure frustration. "Stella, just tell me. What is it going to take for you to forgive me?

"I know you're grieving the baby, and I can give you time. But are you just going to refuse to touch or eat anything that comes from me from now on?"

It all came back to the food. Ian thought I was just being petty and throwing his efforts back in his face.

The old me would have swallowed her pride and catered to his tastes.

But looking at her flushed cheeks and eager submission, he realized she had been harboring desires for him this entire time.

I didn't argue with him. I simply pulled out the menu log our housekeeper kept of everything he had ordered over the past six months.

It clearly recorded every single meal.

The things Ian said to me most after work were right there in my memories.

"Nora loved this. Let's make it again tomorrow."

"Nora has been looking a little thin lately. We need to make sure she gets more nutrients."

"Nora is on her period. Let's keep the food light for the next few days."

Ian always had his excuses ready.

He'd say, "Nora works hard for me, and she's far from her family. I'm just looking out for her, so don't be jealous.

"If you're going to get worked up over something this trivial, then I really need to reconsider if you're fit to be my wife."

Ian's family had strongly opposed our marriage back then, thinking I was too spoiled by my parents to handle being a high society wife.

Ian was the one who insisted on marrying me, nearly getting disinherited by his father to make it happen.

He knew exactly how much those words destroyed me. And just like that, he forced my anger right back down my throat.

When my takeout arrived, Ian was still standing there completely frozen, gripping the menu log in his hands.

I didn't care to check on him. But his stiff frame was blocking the light over the dining table, forcing me to speak up.

"Excuse me, you're blocking the light," I said.

Ian wiped his eyes and turned back to the kitchen without a word.

When I rolled my suitcase downstairs the next morning, Ian had already made breakfast.

It was the exact same food I had ordered last night. He offered a pleading smile, a smear of grease on his usually serious face.

"Stella, try it. See if it's to your liking," he said.

The words had barely left his mouth when he finally noticed I was packed to leave.