Chapter 1

"What's the meaning of this, Jolene Aniston?" my husband, Calvin Meyer, asked in anger.

I ignored him and kept walking.

He caught up and grabbed my arm, his voice rising. "I said, what's the meaning of this?"

People were coming and going through the office lobby, and a few of my coworkers turned to stare.

I yanked my arm free and said calmly, "It was just lunch. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?"

His face went pale. Lips trembling, he finally choked out, "Get in the car. We're going home."

"Why should I?"

"Because you're my wife!"

"Oh, so now you remember I'm your wife?" I looked at him, memories from the last three years flashing through my mind.

Every morning, Calvin got up at six. After washing up, he went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. The sandwiches, fried eggs, and fruit plates he made looked so nice, it was as though they belonged in a food magazine.

I always thought he was packing them to eat at the office. As for me, I'd just grab a cold sandwich on my way to work. Sometimes, I even felt bad that he was getting up so early and told him to get more sleep.

He always said he didn't mind, and it was just his routine.

It turned out that his routine was making breakfast for another woman.

"What were you doing with that guy at lunch today?" Calvin hissed, eyes burning with anger.

"You saw us, didn't you? What exactly do you want me to say?"

After speaking, I turned and walked away. He yelled my name, but I didn't look back.

I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for my floor. Just before the doors closed, I saw him standing there, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

I leaned against the elevator wall, my heart pounding. But I didn't regret it for a second.

When I got back to my desk, I turned on my computer, my hands still trembling slightly.

Derek Sandall leaned over from across the aisle. "Jolene, was that your husband downstairs? Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything is fine."

Derek took the hint and didn't ask any more questions.

I spent the rest of the afternoon staring blankly at my screen. My mind kept going back to that text message.

I remembered when Calvin had a cold last week. I offered to make him soup, but he declined, saying he'd just grab something simple. I thought he was being sweet and considerate. Now I realize he just didn't want my care.

When it was time to leave work for the day, I packed my things and headed out.

My phone buzzed with a text from him. "We need to talk tonight."

I ignored it and shoved my phone into my bag.

When I got home, the living room was dark. I took off my shoes and noticed the guest room door was closed, with a sliver of light showing underneath.

Calvin had moved into the guest room. Great, it saved me the trouble of kicking him out.

I tossed my bag on the couch and walked into the kitchen for a glass of water. As I passed his room, I stopped for a moment.

In the past, whenever we fought, he would sleep in the guest room, and I would always be the one to knock on his door to smooth things over.

Once, we had a particularly bad fight, and he slept in there for a whole week. I cooked every day and called him to eat. He would eat, then go straight back to the guest room and close the door.

In the end, I was the one who had to apologize first. Only then would he move back to our bedroom.

And what were we even fighting about back then? Me being too friendly with a client.

How ironic. He demanded that I keep my distance from other men while he spent three years making breakfast for his female coworker.

Shaking my head, I made my way to my room to relax.

Suddenly, there was a knock on my door.