Chapter 2

"It's nothing," I said.

Curtis came downstairs and gently helped her. "The room's all set. Get some rest first. What do you want for dinner? I'll ask the housekeeper to make it."

"Just go with whatever Heidi likes. I'm good with anything," Edith replied softly.

"Her stomach's a bit sensitive, so let's keep it light," Curtis answered for her, then turned to me. "How about some cream soup? Edith could use a little nourishment."

I nodded and headed into the kitchen.

The cream soup bubbled gently in the pot. I stood by the stove, lost in memories of years ago, when Curtis had stomach troubles, and I'd stay in the kitchen just like this.

He used to say, "Heidi, your soup is the best medicine in the world."

But now, this pot of soup was for another woman.

"Heidi, need a hand?" Edith leaned in the doorway, one hand resting casually on her stomach.

"No, it's almost ready," I replied, turning off the stove and reaching for a bowl.

"Smells so good," she said as she walked over. "Curtis always says you're the best at making soup. Back when his stomach hurt, you were the one who looked after him."

I stayed quiet and set the pot on the counter.

"I've actually wanted to apologize for a while," she said softly. "I know my showing up caused problems between you two.

"But I never meant to come between you. I just had no one to turn to, and Curtis is too kind; he couldn't bear to see me struggling."

I scooped up a spoonful of soup to check the seasoning. It was a bit bland, so I added some sugar.

"Heidi, do you hate me?" she asked.

I set down the spoon and turned to face her. "Edith, it's just us here. You don't need to put on an act."

Her face froze, and her eyes welled up. "I'm not pretending. I honestly feel sorry for you. But feelings aren't something you can control, right? I can't help loving Curtis, and he can't help caring about me."

"Soup's ready," I interrupted her, reaching for a bowl.

She suddenly moved closer and reached out for the bowl. "Let me take it. You've been working in here for ages."

"It's fine—" Before I could even finish my sentence, Edith suddenly yelped, and the bowl of piping hot cream soup slipped right out of her hands, smashing onto the floor.

The ceramic shattered, soup splashed everywhere, and her calf was instantly scalded, turning bright red.

"Ah," Edith dropped to the floor, crying.

"What happened?" Curtis burst in, his expression changing instantly as he took in the chaos and saw Edith in tears.

"Curtis," Edith looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. "It's not Heidi's fault. I was careless. I wanted to help, but my hand slipped."

Curtis crouched down to examine her leg, already swollen. He suddenly looked up at me, his gaze piercing. "Heidi, what did you do?"

I stared at the chaos on the floor, thinking how absurd it all was.

"She lost her grip," I said, my voice steady.

"Did I really drop it?" Edith was crying. "Yes, it was me. Heidi, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have touched the soup you made for Curtis. I know you learned to cook it just for him."

"Edith!" I called out, my voice sharper.

"Enough!" Curtis suddenly stood up, scooped Edith into his arms, and stopped right in front of me, speaking each word slowly and coldly.

He said, "Heidi, I never thought you'd become like this. Edith is pregnant. Can't you even show her a little kindness?"

His eyes were full of disappointment and anger as I looked at him.

"Do you think I did it on purpose?" I asked.

"Isn't that what happened?" Curtis shot back. "It was just a bowl of soup. She was only trying to help. Did you really have to act like this?"

A sharp pain stabbed through my stomach, and I instinctively pressed my hand against it. But to Curtis, it just looked like I was trying to cover up.

"Stomachache again? Every time we argue, you suddenly get a stomachache?" Curtis sneered. "Heidi, how long are you going to keep pulling this stunt? Aren't you sick of it?"

I wanted to tell him that this time it really hurt, that the pain was so bad I could barely stay on my feet.

But seeing Edith in his arms and the way he trusted her completely, I suddenly didn't want to say a single word.

What was the point? He wouldn't believe me anyway.

Just like all these years, I'd say "I'm really upset" or "I need you," but he never took me seriously.

"I'm taking Edith to get her leg taken care of. You clean up this mess," Curtis snapped, then carried Edith out.

I stood there, listening to him go upstairs, hearing his gentle voice as he comforted her. "Come on, let me see. Does it hurt? Why were you so careless?"

I knelt to clean up the shards. A sharp piece sliced my finger, and a bead of blood mingled with the soup, vanishing without a trace.

I picked up the pieces one by one, moving slowly. I kept replaying the moment in my head.

Edith's fingertips had flicked up ever so slightly when she reached for the bowl. I would never have noticed unless I were really paying attention.

She did it on purpose.

She knew Curtis would hear it, see it, and know exactly what to think.

And Curtis, just as she expected, reacted exactly the way she wanted.

As I picked up the last shard, I knelt on the floor and let out a quiet laugh. As I laughed, tears dropped down, mixing with the cold soup.

See, this was the man I had loved for seven years.

He'd rather believe someone putting on a show than trust his wife of seven years.

The pain in my stomach was unbearable. I braced myself against the counter, grabbed two painkillers and swallowed them without water. The pills caught in my throat, the bitterness spreading through me.

I scrubbed the pot clean and started the soup from scratch, letting it simmer for so long that the sounds upstairs faded, and night fell completely.

*****

When I finally brought the soup to the table, Curtis was helping Edith downstairs. Her leg was treated with ointment, and her eyes were still red. When she saw me, she flinched and hid behind Curtis.

"Soup's ready," I said, my voice a little hoarse.

Curtis glanced at me, his eyes full of blame, disappointment, and exhaustion. He didn't say a word, just gently helped Edith into her seat.

That used to be my seat.

"Heidi, I'm really sorry. All that soup you made just went to waste—" Edith murmured.

"Let's eat," I interrupted, taking a seat across from her.

Dinner was painfully quiet. The only sounds were the clinking of plates and forks and Edith's occasional sniffling.

Curtis asked if her leg still hurt, and she shook her head, her eyes still red as she said she was feeling better.

Halfway through dinner, Curtis finally spoke. "Heidi, I'm taking Edith for her check-up tomorrow. You'll be on your own for lunch."

"Okay," I replied.

"And," he said, "from now on, I'll handle Edith's meals. You don't have to bother with it anymore."

I tightened my grip on my fork and looked up at him. "What are you trying to say?"

"It means you don't need to make anything for her anymore," Curtis said, his eyes cold. "I don't want today's incident to happen again."

I stared at him for a while, then nodded. "Okay."

So, in his mind, I was already the kind of person who'd actually try to hurt a pregnant woman.

Fine.