Chapter 1
The phone rang while I was watering a dying spider plant. It was Robert.
"I'll be home in two hours. Make some soup, and keep it light." His voice was like a command, which was cold, crisp, and without a single extra word.
"Okay," I replied, pinching off a yellow leaf from the spider plant.
He paused, like he was waiting for me to say something else, but I didn't. Then, he hung up.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was four in the afternoon.
Two hours later, at six, he'd come home, grab the soup, and head to the hospital.
I knew this routine by heart.
His one true love, Mia Davis, had come back a month ago. She ended up in the hospital right after she got back.
I had been married to Robert Wilson for three years, and in all that time, he hadn't come home more than thirty times. But this month, to bring soup to Mia, he came back twenty days straight—every single day.
Sometimes, I felt less like his wife and more like a high-end delivery person he had hired, someone whose only job was to cook and deliver Mia's custom-made soup.
I took the ingredients out of the fridge, prepped everything, put it into the pressure cooker, added the seasoning, and let it simmer over low heat.
Pretty soon, the kitchen was filled with the rich aroma of soup. It smelled delicious, but I had no appetite at all.
Over the past three years, I had cooked for him day in and day out, and my skills had only gotten better.
He'd only ever complimented me once. It was our first year of marriage, and I learned to make his favorite BBQ ribs.
He took a bite, his eyes a little distant, and said, "It tastes really similar."
He never said who my cooking reminded him of, but I knew he meant Mia.
From that day on, I never made BBQ ribs again.
I didn't want to be anyone's stand-in, let alone copy her cooking.
But I had forgotten one thing. I had always been her stand-in.
As the soup bubbled away on the stove, I went to the study, opened the drawer, and pulled out the divorce papers I'd prepared long ago.
They were printed in large, bold black letters on crisp white paper: [DIVORCE AGREEMENT].
I signed my name, Isabella Brown, pressing hard with each stroke.
When I was done, I placed the papers in the most prominent spot on the coffee table, weighed down with a glass.
Once everything was done, I sank into the couch and waited.
I waited for him to come home, grab the soup, and notice the divorce agreement.
I had no idea how he'd react.
Would he be angry? Would he brush it off? Or maybe he'd feel relieved? I figured it'd be the second one.
After all, in his eyes, I was only a gold-digger, stubbornly holding onto the title of Mrs. Wilson. Now that Mia was back, it was only right for the stand-in to step aside and disappear.
Right at six, the door lock beeped. Robert was home.
He was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, still carrying a bit of the cold from outside. He was tall, and standing there in the entryway, he blocked out most of the light, casting a shadow over the room and making it feel almost claustrophobic.
Robert looked around the room without even looking at me and asked, "Where's the soup?"
"In the kitchen, kept warm," I replied as I got up.
He nodded, kicked off his shoes, and casually hung his suit jacket on the coat rack.
I caught sight of a faint lipstick stain on the collar of his white shirt. It was barely visible. Unless one looked really close, one would never see it. But I saw it.
That was Mia's favorite lipstick shade, the muted rose.
It didn't hurt, but it was a little numb.
He walked into the kitchen and helped himself to the soup. This thermos was one he'd bought ages ago. It was top-of-the-line and kept soup hot for twelve hours.
He was always so attentive. But he never cared about me.
He filled up the thermos, tightened the lid, and came out carrying it.
He never looked at me the entire time, like I was part of the decor in this house.
"I'm leaving," he said and turned to leave.
"Wait," I called out.