“I made chicken soup to help her recover.” My mother’s voice trembled with worry.
“Too greasy. Chloe will feel nauseous.” Daniel took the thermos, turned around, and poured it straight down the sink.
I heard my mother choke up outside.
“Daniel, is Emily… is she being mistreated?”
My phone rang. It was my mother. I forced my voice to sound calm as I answered:
“Mom, I’m fine. Please go home.”
“Sweetheart, why is your voice so hoarse?”
“It’s nothing, just a little tired.”
Through the door, I watched Daniel’s cold back.
“Mom, don’t worry.”
After I hung up, I heard my mother’s quiet sobbing fade as her footsteps retreated.
That evening at dinner, Chloe deliberately asked Daniel to peel shrimp for her.
“Daniel, I don’t have the strength in my hands.” She feigned weakness.
Without hesitation, Daniel put down his chopsticks and carefully peeled the shrimp using the sterling silver cutlery I had scrimped to buy him for our wedding. He had once said it was for special occasions only.
Now, the special occasion had arrived—but not for me.
“Emily, what are you staring at? Go wash the dishes.” Daniel didn’t even lift his head.
I silently carried the plates to the kitchen. The sound of water masked the voices in the living room, but I still heard them clearly.
“She won’t suspect anything, right?” Chloe’s voice was soft.
Daniel chuckled.
“Her? She’s just a fool blinded by love. We could kiss in front of her and she’d still think we were putting on a show.”
“That’s good. I was worried she might notice something.”
“Notice what? She didn’t even dare speak up when I poured out her mother’s soup. What could she possibly discover?”
My hands froze. The dish nearly slipped from my grasp.
After washing the dishes, I returned to the storage room and shut the door. The room was silent, only the sound of my heartbeat filling it. I pulled out my phone, hesitated for a long time, then pressed record.
From today on, I would keep a record of everything.
As my body slowly recovered, Daniel began pressing me to return to work.
“Chloe’s next round of treatment isn’t covered yet,” he said at the doorway, his tone entitled.
When I arrived at the office building, I immediately felt my coworkers’ strange stares—sympathy, disdain, something unspoken.
“Emily,” whispered Susan Johnson, pulling me aside. “While you were hospitalized, your husband came to the company.”
My heart skipped. “What did he come for?”