“What’s going on?” I asked, puzzled, staring at him.
Samuel hurriedly picked up the spoon and, trying to act normal, served me a spoonful of braised pork.
“It’s nothing. I just... I’ve never met someone so outrageous. I was a little shocked, that’s all.”
But I wasn’t really listening. My mind was still on the braised pork in my bowl.
Because I never eat braised pork.
The next evening, after work, I was about to collapse onto the couch when I noticed Samuel’s briefcase sitting there.
I picked it up to straighten things out and felt something in the side pocket. Pulling it out, I was met with a notebook.
With trembling hands, I opened it.
It was a fine printed marriage certificate.
I held my breath, my hands shaking as I flipped it open. The names on it were unmistakable—Samuel Pearce and Starla Pearce.
In that instant, my mind went blank, as if everything exploded in my head.
Anger, pain and betrayal crashed over me like a tidal wave.
As Samuel walked toward the kitchen doorway, I quickly stuffed the marriage certificate back into his briefcase.
“Wash your hands and come eat.”
He entered the room, carrying a pot of soup, his face beaming with excitement.
I stood up but froze when I saw the large pot of chicken soup on the table.
I had once owned a pet chicken, but it had tragically fallen from the balcony and died. Since then, I hadn’t been able to bring myself to eat chicken soup.
Samuel knew this well.
As I stood there, lost in thought, the doorbell suddenly rang. I rushed to answer it.
When I opened the door, Starla was standing there, her belly swollen with pregnancy, a smug grin plastered on her face.
Before I even had a chance to invite her in, she breezed past me, practically barging through the door.
“Wow, that chicken soup smells amazing!” she exclaimed.
Samuel smiled at her.
“You came at the perfect time. You should drink more—it's good for you to replenish.”
His words hit me like a jolt and an uneasy feeling rose in my chest, a sense of dread that I couldn’t shake.
I forced down the anger building inside me and walked over.
“What are you doing here?”
Starla had already seated herself comfortably.
“Isn’t it fine to come visit? I also wanted to try Sammy’s cooking. It’s been ages since I’ve had it and I’ve really missed it.”
As she spoke, her gaze was fixed entirely on Samuel.
“Craving it, huh? I’ve got some pig’s trotters simmering in the kitchen too. You’ll have to eat a couple extra pieces later,” Samuel said, his focus entirely on Starla as he handed her a hot towel to wipe her hands.
“Go ahead, wipe your hands and dig in!” he added with a carefree smile, before turning back to the kitchen to bring out the trotters—completely ignoring my presence as if I were invisible.
It wasn’t until Samuel sat down across from Starla that he seemed to realize what had happened. He awkwardly got up and glanced at me.
“Cass, sit down and eat. Try the soup I made and let me know if it tastes good,” he said, dishing out a bowl of chicken soup and placing it in front of me.
Without thinking, I pushed the bowl away.
“Samuel, have you forgotten? I don’t drink chicken soup.”
The force of my push sent the hot soup splashing onto Samuel’s hand and he yelped in pain, stumbling back a step.
“Cassey, are you trying to burn me?”
Starla immediately jumped up, grabbing Samuel’s hand to inspect the burn.
“Sammy, are you okay? Does it hurt? Should we go to the hospital?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.
Then, her gaze turned to me and her anger flared.
“Cassey, why did you do that? Sammy was just being kind, offering you the soup and you deliberately spilled it on him! How can you be so heartless?” she snapped.
