Chapter 2

The moment I glanced at the message, the water had stopped running at some point. Taylor stood behind me and demanded coldly, "Why are you looking at my phone?"

"I'm not—ah!"

He shoved me aside in anger. I lost my balance and fell hard to the floor. My arm scraped against the corner of the table, leaving a long gash, and my ankle was twisted.

Immediately, tears fell from my eyes. Nevertheless, Taylor didn't hurry to comfort me. Instead, he thought I'd hurt myself on purpose to win his sympathy.

With a look of irritation, he fetched the first-aid kit and began treating my wound. I didn't resist.

Halfway through, his phone rang. It was Yvonne's custom ringtone.

I once asked Taylor to set a custom ringtone for me, too. Yet, he'd claimed I was being childish.

On the phone, Yvonne whined, "Taylor, I think I drank too much… I feel awful and can't sleep."

Upon ending the call, Taylor didn't bother to finish tending to my wound. He simply grabbed the hangover medicine I had prepared and left promptly.

He ignored me when I called after him. I lowered my head and let my final tears fall.

After that, I called my best friend, Willa Collins. She rushed over and brought me to the hospital.

Once my wound was treated, Willa cast me a complicated look as she struggled with her words.

I knew what she wanted to say. She was probably wondering where Taylor had gone at this hour. But in the end, she didn't voice her question, and I didn't explain.

When Taylor finally came back, it was already evening. I was sitting on the couch, watching TV.

He glanced at the dining table to find it empty.

"Why didn't you make dinner?"

I turned to look at him and gestured toward my bandaged wound. While his expression shifted slightly, he quickly composed himself. A flicker of annoyance flashed across his eyes.

"Couldn't you have just ordered takeout?"

After all, he'd texted me an hour ago, saying he was coming home for dinner.

I shook my head calmly, unfazed by his frustration.

"My phone was charging in the bedroom. I didn't see your message."

Taylor opened his mouth as if to say something. Eventually, he sat down beside me and cast several glances my way, but I didn't acknowledge him.

Finally, he got up decisively and started making dinner in the kitchen.

In the ten years we'd been married, I had always been the one to cook. I couldn't bear to see him tired, and he'd never mentioned he could cook anyway.

It didn't take long before Taylor emerged with a simple meal.

He carried me to the table. I didn't tell him I'd already eaten and just quietly accepted the food he'd made for me for the first time.

Taylor looked at me and said, "This is all I know how to make. Next time, remember to order takeout."

He was lying.

That very afternoon, he had cooked an elaborate meal for Yvonne. It was beautifully plated and rich in flavor. She'd posted it on her social media with pride.

It was also the first time I learned that Taylor could cook.

I ate silently without replying. After a few bites, I was full. I placed my spoon down and stood to leave.

Taylor seemed to want to pull me into his arms again, but I instinctively leaned away. The motion knocked over my plate, and it shattered on the floor.

Taylor let out a sneer.

"Faith, what are you throwing a tantrum for this time? Is it because I forgot you were injured? Because I didn't finish tending to your wound last night? You're seriously still mad about that?"

"I'm not," I answered honestly.

But Taylor didn't believe me.

He narrowed his eyes in disdain and continued, "Oh, please. You used to throw full-blown tantrums, but they don't work. Now you think staying silent and acting unbothered is going to make me feel bad?

"Grow up, Faith. We've been married ten years, yet you're still playing these immature games like a little girl. Can't you use your brain for once?"