Chapter 3

I hadn't slept a single minute last night, and now I was so on edge I could barely think straight.

Not caring at all, I just tossed every spice I could find into the pot.

If only I could boil down all the bitterness and frustration from the past ten years into this one pot of soup.

Tears kept streaming down my face, no matter how many times I wiped them away.

I kept chopping on the cutting board, each thud ringing out in the kitchen.

Margaret called out, "Let me help you," as she walked over, clearly just putting on an act.

Then, with a casual flick of her hand, she knocked the oil bottle over on purpose, sending oil splattering everywhere.

The flames suddenly roared up, nearly reaching the ceiling.

Margaret shrieked and scrambled backward in panic.

Philbert dashed over, stepping protectively in front of her.

But his sudden movement made me lose my balance, and I fell backward.

The whole pot of boiling soup was knocked over by my elbow.

The scalding soup splashed onto my neck, and before I knew it, my sensitive skin was blistered and peeling.

I crumpled on the floor, shaking uncontrollably.

I stared coldly into his eyes, catching that fleeting flash of panic in his gaze.

Philbert's face went ghostly pale in an instant.

He rushed over, helping me up and frantically trying to check my wound.

"Pearl, I'm sorry. I. I didn't mean to..." Philbert stammered, his voice trembling.

I winced from the pain as I shook off his hand, stumbling a few steps backward.

"Whatever. None of this matters anyway," I said, my voice icy and detached.

With that, I hurried into the bathroom, locking the door behind me, catching Philbert's guilty gaze as I shut him out.

Cold water flowed over my head, the icy sting crawling down my neck.

Couldn't even tell if it was water or tears anymore. My face was a mess, and I could barely breathe, like I was drowning.

Philbert had his hand on the doorknob, looking like he wanted to say something.

But when he saw Margaret clutching her stomach, he picked her up in his arms without hesitation.

"Just call yourself a cab to the hospital. Margaret's stomach isn't great, so I'm taking her to grab a bite first," Philbert said, not even glancing my way.

As the sound of the car's engine finally faded away, the whole house was left with nothing but the gushing of water and my muffled sobs.

I had no idea how much time had passed.

I cried myself dry; there were no more tears left in me.

Numb, I cleaned up the chaos left behind.

Then, dragging myself, completely spent, I made my way to the hospital.

By the time I walked out of the exam room, dusk was already settling in.

The autumn wind whipped around, sending a sharp chill down my neck.

I shivered, unable to help myself against the cold.

Just as I pulled out my phone to order a ride, it started ringing.

"Are you Philbert Wise's family? He's at the police station. Can you come down here?" the voice on the other end asked.

Out of the last shred of marital duty, I went.

As soon as I arrived at the police station, I spotted Philbert slumped on a bench, looking disheveled and defeated.

One hand was wrapped in a bandage, while the other held Margaret close, her eyes swollen and red from crying.

When he saw me, he instinctively released her and got to his feet.

Margaret shrank timidly behind him, as if she were the most wronged person in the world.

If it were before, I would've yelled at her and shoved her away without hesitation.

I would've wanted to shout to the world that Philbert belonged to me.

But now, with Philbert staring at me in disbelief, I just walked straight over to the officer on duty.

On the security footage, Philbert was locked in a heated argument with a young girl.