Elara's POV
“You love fried carp fillet, don’t you? I’ll have her make it for you right now,” Callum added.
Before I could react, he shoved me into the kitchen, ignoring my struggle, and tossed a slimy, foul-smelling fish onto me.
“Make a good meal for her. Don’t cause trouble,” he ordered, then shut the kitchen door behind me with a loud bang.
I rushed forward and yanked at the doorknob several times, but it wouldn’t budge.
Outside, I could hear Callum speaking softly to Briar. Inside, the fish slime clung to my clothes and skin, and I sank weakly to the floor.
Fried carp fillet was my specialty dish. Ironically, I’ve always hated fish. Just the smell alone made me nauseous.
But Callum loved it. When he was young, a fish bone had injured him, and ever since, he could only crave fish but didn’t dare eat it.
After we got married, he told me the story, and I decided to learn the dish just for him. I searched through recipes and even asked the chef at a state-owned restaurant to teach me.
To make it, every tiny bone in the fish must be sliced open, requiring a lot of effort and patience.
Each time, my back would ache, and my stomach would churn for days.
Back then, he used to feel guilty about it, massaging my back and complaining that his greedy appetite caused me so much pain. He even refused to let me make the dish again.
But now, he seemed to have forgotten all of that. Forgotten that he used to rather go without it than let me suffer.
I was lost in thought when the kitchen door opened. Callum walked in and paused when he saw me.
Then he stepped forward and lifted me up. “Why aren’t you cooking? Are you mad at me?”
He chuckled lightly and pulled out bandages to wrap my wounds. “I already apologized to her for you. She’s not holding a grudge, okay? You’re overthinking. There’s nothing going on between us. I know you’ve had a hard time here. When we move to Washington, I’ll make it up to you.”
After saying that, he grabbed the dead fish and began cooking himself.
I stared at his back, my mouth opening and closing several times. He never used to step foot in the kitchen. He always said cooking would mess with his shooting precision.
So, how did he suddenly become so skilled after seven or eight years away?
In the end, I said nothing.
I had already made up my mind to leave him. There was no point in asking questions anymore.
Dinner tasted like sand in my mouth as Briar clung to Callum throughout the meal.
First, she claimed her arm hurt from when I pushed her earlier, so she needed him to feed her. Then, she brushed a grain of rice from the corner of his lips and popped it into her own mouth before gasping dramatically and apologizing to me, saying it was just a reflex, and I shouldn’t misunderstand.
Callum’s gaze kept drifting toward me. But when he saw that I kept my head down and stayed silent, his expression darkened.
After dinner, I tried to say I needed to help my younger siblings with their homework so I could sleep in their room.
But my mother-in-law dragged me back toward the master bedroom and shooed the giggling siblings away in a low voice. “Don’t disturb your sister-in-law and brother.”
Turning to me with a grin full of implication, she said, “You’re shy, aren’t you? You’ve waited long enough for your husband. Hurry now, let me hold a grandson by next year.”
I pressed my lips together. Not wanting to disappoint her, I forced myself to enter the bedroom.
I planned to come up with a reason to sleep separately, but the moment I stepped inside, I froze.
Callum sat stiffly at the table, his expression cold and unreadable.
He slowly lifted his eyes at the sound of the door opening, his gaze like ice.
In his hand was a crumpled copy of my application letter to join the National Rural Service Program and a divorce agreement.
Suddenly, my mind went completely blank.
