Chapter 2: The First Breakfast and the First Lie

The sun was barely up when Evelyn stepped into the kitchen. The marble floors felt like ice beneath her bare feet, but she didn’t mind the cold. It made her feel grounded, a stark contrast to the lightheadedness that had started to haunt her.

She began to cook. The kitchen was usually the domain of their housekeeper, but today, Evelyn wanted it to be hers. She prepared classic eggs Benedict, smoked salmon, and fresh coffee—Arthur’s favorites. It was a domestic routine they hadn’t shared in years. Most mornings, Arthur was gone before she even woke up, leaving nothing behind but a lingering scent of cedarwood and a cold bed.

As the scent of brewing coffee filled the room, she heard the heavy, rhythmic footsteps descending the stairs. Her heart skipped.

Arthur walked into the kitchen wearing a crisp white dress shirt and charcoal trousers. He was buttoning his cuffs, his movements sharp and efficient. He didn't say good morning. He just pulled out a chair and sat down, immediately placing his phone on the table next to his plate.

"You’re actually doing this," Arthur said, glancing at the spread of food. His voice was flat, devoid of any warmth.

"It’s Day One," Evelyn replied, placing a plate in front of him. "The contract started at midnight."

Arthur picked up his fork but didn't start eating. He was busy scrolling through his emails with his thumb. "This is blackmail, you realize that? Forcing someone to sit at a table with you isn't a marriage, Evelyn. It’s a hostage situation."

"I’m not holding you at gunpoint, Arthur. I’m just asking for breakfast. It’s twenty minutes of your day."

"Time is money," he snapped, finally looking up. His eyes were tired, but still sharp enough to sting. "Every minute I spend playing house with you is a minute I’m losing on the Milan deal. I hope you’re happy knowing exactly what you’re costing me."

Evelyn sat across from him, her own plate untouched. "Eat, Arthur. The eggs will get cold."

He took a bite, chewed slowly, and then went back to his phone. The only sound in the room was the clinking of silverware and the occasional buzz of his device.

"Is it good?" she asked softly.

"It’s fine," he replied without looking up. "A bit too much salt."

Evelyn knew it wasn't too salty. She had made this dish for him a hundred times before they were married, back when he still looked at her like she was the only person in the room. She swallowed the lump in her throat and stood up to pour him more coffee.

As she reached for the pot, a sudden wave of vertigo hit her. The kitchen tiles seemed to tilt, and the steam from the coffee felt suffocating. Her hand trembled, and the glass pot clattered against the ceramic mug.

"Evelyn?" Arthur’s voice sounded far away.

She swayed, her knees buckling. Before she could hit the floor, she felt a pair of strong arms catch her. Arthur was suddenly there, his hands firm on her shoulders, holding her upright.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—maybe not worry, but at least confusion. "Are you dizzy?"

"I'm fine," she whispered, gripping his forearms. His heat was overwhelming. "I just... I didn't sleep well."

"You’re pale," he noted, his grip tightening for a second. He leaned closer, his brow furrowed. "Do you have a fever?"

For a moment, Evelyn let herself lean into him. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of his skin. It was the first time he had touched her like this in months—not out of obligation, but out of a sheer reflex to catch someone falling.

Then, the silence was shattered.

Arthur’s phone, still sitting on the table, began to vibrate violently. A name flashed on the screen: *Sarah.*

The tension in Arthur’s body changed instantly. The brief moment of connection snapped like a dry twig. He let go of Evelyn’s shoulders so quickly she had to grab the counter to keep her balance.

"I have to take this," Arthur said. His voice was no longer soft; it was back to being professional and distant.

"Arthur, we’re in the middle of breakfast," Evelyn reminded him, her voice trembling. "The contract said no work calls during our time."

He was already reaching for the phone. "This is important, Evelyn. Don't be difficult."

"It’s Day One," she said, her voice rising slightly. "You promised."

Arthur paused, his finger hovering over the green icon. He looked at her, then at the phone, then back at her. "The world doesn't stop just because you want to play a game. I caught you, didn't I? You're standing. You're fine."

He swiped the screen and walked toward the living room, his voice shifting into a smooth, apologetic tone. "Sarah? Yes, I'm here. No, the flight was delayed. I'm still at home. Give me ten minutes."

Evelyn stood alone in the kitchen. The eggs Benedict was still steaming, the coffee was still hot, and the chair Arthur had occupied was still pulled out.

She walked over to the table and picked up his plate. He hadn't even finished half of it. She walked over to the trash can and scraped the food inside. The sound of the disposal unit drowned out the sound of Arthur’s voice laughing at something Sarah had said in the other room.

"Ten minutes," Evelyn whispered to the empty kitchen.

She heard the front door open and close. Arthur didn't come back to say goodbye. He didn't check to see if she had fainted again. He just left.

Evelyn walked slowly to the hallway where a large wooden calendar hung on the wall. It was an antique piece, something she had bought when they first moved in, thinking they would use it to mark their anniversaries and future children’s birthdays.

She picked up the red marker sitting on the ledge. With a steady hand, she drew a large, bold 'X' over the first day of the month.

The kitchen was quiet again. The only thing left of Arthur was the half-empty cup of coffee and the lingering scent of his cologne in the air.

Evelyn leaned her head against the wall, her fingers tracing the rough paper of the calendar.

"Ninety-nine days left," she said to the silence.

She picked up the coffee mug and carried it to the sink. She washed it carefully, dried it, and put it back in the cupboard. Then, she took a seat at the table, stared at the empty chair across from her, and waited for the house to feel like home again. It didn't.