Chapter 2

I piled another piece of greasy bacon on his plate, frowning at the bags under his eyes. "You still look a bit pale. Is work stressing you out too much?

"How about I make a heavy short rib stew tonight?"

He just nodded, his eyes glued to his phone as he texted someone with a stupid smirk on his face.

I didn't need to guess who he was texting.

My heart felt like it had been soaked in ice water, but I forced my smile to become even gentler.

Dinner became a nightly feast of honey bourbon ribs, heavy cream pasta, and loaded baked potatoes.

I was feeding him high-cholesterol poison disguised as a labor of love.

Whenever he complained about feeling bloated, I handed him a glass of sugary juice. "It's just your sensitive stomach adjusting to the rich food. You'll get used to it."

I played my part perfectly, melting away any suspicion with sheer wifely devotion.

Sometimes Graham would shoot me a suspicious glance, but it always softened under my seamless affection.

The real work happened late at night.

Graham started coming home past midnight, reeking of alcohol and cheap perfume.

He used to make up decent excuses, but now he barely even texted to notify me.

I never picked a fight.

I would just head to the kitchen and whip up a massive bowl of loaded mac and cheese.

"You can't sleep on an empty stomach," I would say softly, handing him a mug of dark roast coffee to wake him up.

He had usually already eaten dinner with his mistress, but the adrenaline from cheating and my aggressive coaxing always made him eat again.

Stuffed with sodium and wired on caffeine, his heart rate would spike.

He would pace the living room, flushed and complaining that he couldn't sleep.

That was my cue. I would grab my sneakers. "Let's go for a run! The doctor said light cardio is great for insomnia and heart health. I'll go with you."

He resisted, but I knew exactly how to stroke his ego.

I would drop little encouraging comments. "Your stomach is getting a tiny bit soft. Running will keep you in shape. You know how much I love your abs."

And so, at one or two in the morning, the silhouettes of our loving marriage could be seen jogging through the quiet streets of our suburban neighborhood.

Naturally, I could not keep up. After a few blocks, I would stop, gasping for air, leaning against a streetlamp and waving him on. "Honey, I can't do it.

"Your stamina is amazing. You keep going, and I'll wait right here to cheer you on!"

With my admiring gaze and the surprised, envious glances from passersby, Graham's vanity soared.

Driven by a need to show off, he sprinted furiously down the empty street under my watchful eye.

I could see the veins bulging on his neck. I could hear his breathing growing heavier, rattling in his chest.

While he ran, I casually strolled over to the 24-hour convenience store, bought two sports drinks, and sat on a park bench. I pulled out my phone.

The screen displayed the real-time syncing data from his smartwatch health app.

Heart rate: 158, 162, 165... The numbers kept climbing, hovering dangerously close to the redline.

When he finally finished his laps, returning to me drenched in sweat with his face a terrifying shade of purple, I rushed forward.

I gently wiped his face with a towel and handed him the drink, looking completely distressed. "Honey, you're sweating so much. You burned a ton of calories and must be starving.

"There's a late-night diner just around the corner. Let's go grab a bite to refuel. If you don't eat after a hard workout, you'll lose muscle mass."