Chapter 3

"How about you just go over and say something conciliatory to Gloria?" Julian suggested. "Just tell her it was a misunderstanding, and that'll be the end of it."

I stared at him.

The man I'd loved for five years.

In that moment, he felt like a stranger to me.

My heart felt frozen, like it had been soaked in ice water—chilled to the bone.

I didn't say a word.

I just looked at Julian in silence.

He looked away, avoiding my gaze.

"Rachel, don't look at me like that. You're making me nervous." He was trying to smooth things over. "My mom's just got a sharp tongue, but she's got a soft heart."

"I'll go talk to Gloria, alright? Let me grab some fruit and go over to say sorry."

I finally spoke up, my voice flat. "No need."

Julian was caught off guard.

"What?" He blinked, not getting it.

"I said, no need." I repeated myself, my voice still icy. "As for your mom and your neighbor, you handle them yourself. As for my flowers, I'll take care of them on my own."

With that, I headed straight for the bedroom.

I closed the door, blocking out everything he had to say.

I leaned against the back of the door and let out a long, slow breath. A breath that carried a bone-deep chill.

I paid for this place in full, all on my own, before we even got married.

Julian didn't contribute a dime. He just showed up with his bags and settled right in.

I made twice as much as he did.

I handled all the household expenses, including the weekly bouquet, single-handedly.

But Julian and his mom always acted so superior, as if they were above me, like I was the lucky one in this relationship.

Back then, I always thought that, as a family, there was no need to fuss over the little things.

I loved him, so I was willing to tolerate his domineering mom and his moments of weakness.

But today, this whole thing hit me like a wake-up call—like a slap that finally snapped me out of it.

This wasn't tolerance; it was indulgence.

This wasn't love; it was just me draining myself, piece by piece.

To them, everything I did was just taken for granted—like it was my job, nothing worth mentioning.

My boundaries? They acted like they could trample all over them without a second thought.

Why? Why do I have to accept this?

I got on my computer and logged into our shared account—Julian and I both used it.

Every month, we'd put money in, saving up for major purchases or whatever we might need down the line.

I looked at the balance, my eyes completely devoid of emotion.

I transferred my exact share—no more, no less, not a penny off—into my own personal account without a second thought.

Then I took out my phone.

I opened the flower ordering app.

I pulled up my past orders.

Sunflowers, twenty-nine bucks.

Lilies, thirty-three bucks.

Blue Storm roses, forty-three bucks.

I added up those three numbers.

One hundred and five bucks.

Great.

I opened the app and, without hesitation, placed four separate orders in one go.

The delivery address was my building.

For the recipient, I just put "Resident on the 5th floor"—nice and vague.

And every single one was set to cash on delivery.

Each bouquet was priced at forty-three dollars.

I even thoughtfully left a note for the seller: [Please ensure these are delivered promptly at exactly 3 PM, Monday through Thursday. During these hours, only Ms. Smith is home.]

Once I was done, I finally felt a bit of that pent-up anger start to fade, as I could finally breathe again.

Julian was knocking on the bedroom door. "Rachel, can you please open the door?

"Don't stay upset in there. it's not good for your health. What do you want for dinner? I'll cook for you."

I opened the door.

As soon as he saw me, Julian immediately plastered a smile on his face.

"So, you're not mad anymore?" Julian asked, trying to sound upbeat.

I stared at him, my expression icy and unreadable.

"Julian, does what I say even matter in this house?" I said, my voice cold as ever.

His smile stiffened, suddenly fading from his face.

"Where did that come from?" Julian asked, clearly caught off guard.

"Just answer me—yes or no?" I pressed, my voice cold and unyielding.

He paused, then said, "Of course, you call the shots. You're the boss here."

"Good."

I nodded, feeling a cold certainty settle in my chest.

"Since I'm the one who calls the shots," I said, my voice cold and resolute, "from today on, unless I give permission, your mother is not allowed to set foot in this house—not even once."

"And as for you," I stared him down, speaking slowly and clearly, "when you finally remember whose husband you are, then we can talk about anything else."

Julian was completely stunned.

He stared at me, like he was seeing me for the very first time.

"Wait, what... What did you say?" Julian stammered. "You mean my mom can't come over anymore?"

He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

I nodded, not backing down at all.

"That's right," I said. "I'm not backing down on this—not one bit.

"When she learns to show me some respect, then I'll reconsider."