Chapter 1
After three years of marriage, I saw words floating above my husband's head for the first time.
They were white and semi-transparent, sliding from left to right like a live chat overlay.
[Why isn't she asleep yet? So annoying.]
I froze.
Edward Foster was leaning against the headboard, reading some documents, his expression as cold as ever.
He didn't say a word.
But those words were unmistakably his thoughts.
I rubbed my eyes.
The words vanished.
I gently snuggled up to him and hooked my arm around his.
"Honey, will you go shopping with me tomorrow?" I asked.
Another floating line popped up above his head. [Doesn't she ever get tired of sticking to me all the time?]
Out loud, he just said, "We'll see."
I loosened my grip on his arm bit by bit.
*****
My name is Stella Summers. I've been married to Edward for three years and four months.
This was the first time I saw those floating words above his head.
It was also the first time I realized that when he said "we'll see," he never really meant it.
It meant, "Leave me alone."
That night, I didn't try to get close to him again.
Edward turned the page of his document, and another line of text floated above his head. [Finally, some peace and quiet]
Those words stung more than anything he could've said out loud.
I lay on the other side of the bed, pulling the covers up to my chin.
It felt like someone was slowly clawing at my heart with their nails.
The next morning, I got up at six, just like always.
I made oatmeal and served it with his favorite bacon, eggs, and toast.
Edward came downstairs, looking sharp in his suit, and sat down to eat.
Another line of text floated above his head.
[Seriously, oatmeal again? Can't she make something different for once?]
But he didn't say a word.
I served him a bowl.
"Edward, I cooked the oatmeal for forty minutes today. It should be even softer than yesterday," I said.
He just grunted in response.
Above his head, the words appeared: [Who cares?]
I stared at the bowl of oatmeal, and suddenly, I didn't feel like eating anymore.
Three years.
Every single morning, I got up at six to make him breakfast.
I rotated between apple-cinnamon oatmeal, pumpkin oatmeal, and berry oatmeal.
Three years. More than a thousand mornings.
So he never cared. Not even once.
Edward's mother, Linda Foster arrived at ten.
She was dressed in a gray cashmere coat, carrying two boxes of premium nutritional supplements.
"Where's Edward?" she asked.
"He's at work, Mom," I replied.
I took the supplements from her, smiling as I headed to make some coffee.
Then, a line of text floated above Linda's head. [She calls me Mom? Does she even deserve that?]
I paused for a moment.
Linda sat down in the living room, glancing around.
"Stella, the water in that vase should be changed," she said.
"Okay, Mom, I'll do it right away," I replied.
[All she does is hover around Edward all day. She never stops to consider whether she's good enough for him. If her father hadn't saved my husband's life back then, my son never would have married her]
A whole block of text scrolled by, so dense it felt suffocating.
I stood at the sink, holding the vase, the tap running as water spilled over my fingers.
The water was icy.
It turned out our marriage was nothing more than a debt being repaid.
When his dad had that car accident, my dad was the first to rush over and get him to the hospital.
I always thought the Foster family was nice to me out of gratitude.
Only now did I realize that behind their kindness lay obligation. They had been nice to me only because they felt they had no choice.
I changed the water in the vase and set it back on the coffee table.
Linda gave me a look.
[She's hardworking enough, but that's about all she's got going for her.]
I sat across from her and poured her a cup of coffee.
My smile looked exactly the same as always.
But from now on, I knew it was nothing but a mask.
Later that afternoon, Edward's assistant called.
"Mrs. Foster, Mr. Foster asked me to let you know he has a business dinner tonight and won't be home for dinner," the assistant said.
"Okay," I said.
I hung up and sat alone at the dining table, where the two dishes and bowl of soup I'd already made were waiting.
Barbecue ribs, garlic-roasted broccoli, and tomato soup.
Everything he loves.
I took a bite of the rib and just kept chewing, lost in thought.
For some reason, I couldn't taste anything.