Chapter 2

After I finished tidying up, I took a quick shower and returned to the bedroom.

Derrick was still awake. He glanced at me and immediately moved over, making space behind him.

Silently and out of habit, I began massaging his shoulders.

After a while, he turned around, his expression displeased.

"Did you not have dinner? Why are you so weak?"

I simply stared at him wordlessly.

He grew irritated and snapped, "Did you lose your tongue?"

This was a sign that Derrick was about to lose his temper. He always liked to pick fights over small things and wouldn't stop until I admitted I was wrong.

I couldn't help but reply sarcastically, "How would I dare eat? I was too busy waiting for you to show up, Mr. Wickham."

Derrick fell silent for a moment, then cleared his throat.

"Couldn't you go and find something to eat yourself when you were hungry? Did you have to just wait around? How stupid. Forget it. You don't need to give me a massage tonight. Rest up."

Derrick's expression seemed to imply that he had granted me some enormous favor, but that sat well with me, and I turned my back to him, quickly settling into bed.

For a long moment, there was no movement behind me. Then, after a deep breath, he turned off the light.

This was the first time I hadn't tried to curl up in his arms to sleep.

…

By the time I woke up and went downstairs, it was rather late. For once, Derrick hadn't gone to the office. Instead, he was reading on the couch.

He wore glasses with a light-colored frame, which, paired with his casual clothes, gave him a gentle, calm appearance. He looked very much like how he did when I first met him. For a fleeting moment, I thought the old him had returned.

But the illusion shattered as soon as he looked up and spoke.

"What are you standing there for? Can't you see I'm waiting? Hurry up."

His eyes were full of impatience and condescension.

I nodded and quickly finished the breakfast that had long gone cold on the table. After tidying up, I stood beside him.

Derrick scanned me from head to toe and frowned at my attire. I was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and long pants.

"If you know that you're ugly, can't you at least try to dress up better? I'm the only one who would want you because of how lazy and hideous you are."

Now that I was free from the illusion of love, I realized just how disgusting his frequent remarks truly were. In the past, I had treasured them, taking them as proof of his affection. But now, I rolled my eyes inwardly and nodded in silence.

When the usual shy blushing or coy reaction he expected from me never came, Derrick stayed silent for a moment, then said, "Whatever. Considering I'm making it up to you today, I'll let it slide."

We soon got into the car. Silence hung between us, broken only by the constant ringing of Derrick's phone.

The only person daring enough to call so incessantly was Jessica.

Derrick showed no impatience. Instead, he pulled over and immediately answered the call.

I leaned against the window, gazing out at the scenery, while fragments of his soft, gentle murmurs reached my ears.

The person on the other end of the line seemed to be whining, and Derrick's tone grew increasingly indulgent.

It was the first time I had heard him use that tone with anyone. He had never spoken to me like that. It was so cloying that it made my stomach turn.

After coaxing Jessica, Derrick still had a fondness in his voice that hadn't entirely dissipated when he asked me to get out of the car.

"I'll come get you later."

Abandoned by the roadside, I watched Derrick start the engine and drive away. A bitter feeling rose within me. He wasn't going to come back, just as he never had in the past 99 times he stood me up.

Ten minutes later, a good friend of mine, Crystal Belrose, whom I hadn't met in a long time, pulled up sharply. She rolled down the window, looked at me, and scoffed.

"I told you right from the start. Being a full-time housewife never ends well."