Chapter 3

I wasn't some petty little girl who held grudges. If he was giving me an out, I'd take it.

So I just smiled, pretending I didn't notice what he was up to.

I sat down like nothing unpleasant had happened and said, "So, you've heard I let Lydia go."

Michael's hand hesitated in midair as he was about to grab some food, but he just shrugged it off, playing it cool.

"Yes, that's why I'm on kitchen duty tonight," he replied.

I picked up a slice of chicken and felt a strange pang inside.

The dish tasted exactly like Lydia's cooking.

*****

In bed, Michael's hand began to wander, growing more intimate than usual.

I pushed him away, feeling a flash of disgust.

"Did you forget what the doctor said?" I asked.

He was totally unfazed. "Come on, just one more day. We had a fight. I'm just trying to make it up to you," he said.

I turned him down again.

"Our parents are pushing so hard for a baby. We can't keep putting this off," I told him.

Then I picked up my blanket and went to sleep in the guest room.

Before seven the next morning, the noise from the kitchen woke me up.

The guest room was right next to the kitchen, so I could hear everything crystal clear.

I thought maybe Michael had gotten up early to fix breakfast.

But when I opened the door, it was Lydia standing there.

I couldn't keep the annoyance out of my voice as I frowned. "What are you doing here again?" I asked.

She froze, flustered, but her eyes darted over my shoulder.

"Sophia, don't be mad at Lydia, okay? Let me explain," Michael said.

Before I knew it, Michael appeared from the master bedroom, grabbed my arm, and yanked me out to the balcony.

"Why can't we just talk about this right in front of her?" Sophia snapped.

I was seriously about to blow a fuse.

I don't get why I have to watch my words like this in my own home, especially around outsiders.

Michael lowered his voice. "Hey, I was just trying not to make Lydia look bad," he said.

"Did you tell her yesterday it was because I wasn't satisfied with her, so she got fired?" he asked.

I didn't deny it. That was basically the truth.

Though honestly, I did use that as an opportunity for myself.

Seeing I didn't deny it, Michael continued, "So, Lydia texted me last night—she was apologizing and pleading for another chance.

"Her husband has a gambling problem. Her family relies entirely on her income. Right now, she's working for three clients, which is just enough to get by. If we were to fire her, it would be a devastating blow.

"I mean, you've always been pretty happy with her, and you like her cooking. It really doesn't make sense to give her the boot over one slip-up, so I told her she could keep working for us."

Something about his story didn't add up.

"Since when did you even have her number?" I shot back.

I was always the one who talked to Lydia about the daily menu.

Whenever my in-laws visited and we needed more dishes, I'd ask Michael to text Lydia. But he always claimed he didn't have her number and that it was too much trouble. In the end, he'd just pass the task right back to me.

He panicked for a second and started stammering, "Uh, well... I don't really remember. Maybe we exchanged contacts for something ages ago."

I pressed, "So, what time did she reach out to you last night?" When I moved to the guest room last night, it was close to eleven.

Before that, he hadn't even touched his phone.

Michael was at a loss for words.

It was obvious—somehow, they'd gotten way too close.

Honestly, we barely saw Lydia around.

Most mornings, breakfast would be ready and waiting by the time we woke up.

While we were eating, she'd be in the kitchen tidying up.

After we left for work, she'd finish up the dishes and slip out quietly.

At night, we pretty much never ran into her.

I set up a temporary code for Lydia, so she'd come by in the afternoon and have dinner ready and waiting for us when we got home. The dishes would be left for her to wash when she came back the next morning.

Strictly speaking, we only ran into her for about half an hour each morning.

Suddenly, I remembered something that had happened two months ago.