Wifey Talk [COMPLETED, 18+]

Part sixty-three

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SOFIA'S POV

I've been miserable for two weeks now, and getting my period today has only made things worse. I lay in bed, thinking of how much I miss Ioane's smile. I want to call him, but I force myself not to do it. It's better for both him and me in the long run.

I can't help but resent James for telling me that he wants to try being exclusive after I realize I'm in love with Ioane. Why couldn't he tell me earlier before I had my heart broken? I don't want anything to do with him.

The man himself walks into the apartment now, coming in after a long workday. He looks at me moping in bed and says nothing. I want to scream at him, but I say nothing. I feel like I'm dying, and it's all his fault. Why did I have to agree to marry him? Why did I have to meet Ioane? Why did I have to fall in love with Ioane and then push him away? Life makes no sense.

"Sofia, get up," James says softly.

I ignore him, staying curled into a ball.

"Damn it, Sofia, if you want to be pissed at me, then fine. But I'm tired of watching you wither away into nothing. You have to eat. You're starting to look so skinny it's unhealthy."

"Go away," I mumble, my throat dry and scratchy.

He sighs. I hear him walk off, and I cry into my pillow harder. It isn't until an hour and a half later that he returns. I hear him walk into the bedroom, and then his side of the bed dips when he sits down.

"Sofia, get up."

I ignore him.

"I'm not fucking around Sofia. Get up now," he demands. His sharp tone forces me up, and I sit with my legs tucked under me, my back against the headboard. James meets my eyes.

He's holding a bowl of soup. The man spoons out a helping of the broth to me. "Eat," he demands.

I slurp the broth, sitting back and closing my eyes. It's just alphabet soup, but it feels comforting. There's no way for James to know this, but my mom used to make me alphabet soup every time I was hurting when I was a kid. It always makes me feel better. In fact, now that I think about it, this tastes exactly like mom's. Down to the Rosemary sprigs.

"James, did you make this?" I know that James can't cook for his life.

He nods his head. "I called your dad, and he gave me the recipe your mom used to make when you were sick. It wasn't as hard as most dishes are to make."

The thought behind his actions makes my eyes pool. I feel my lower lips tremble, and tears start to drip down my cheeks again. He did all of this for me?

James sighs. "Baby, don't cry."

I take the bowl from him and set it on the nightstand. Then I tackle him in a hug, burying my face into the crook of his neck. For some reason, this little gesture feels like the world to me. "Thank you," I whisper.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he tells me.

I accept his apology, kissing his neck. My arms wrap around him tight.

"Will you eat now?"

I pull back and nod my head. He hands me the bowl of soup, and then he leaves. I watch him return with a slice of baguette bread. I let the bread soak up my soup before taking a bite. I don't realize how hungry I am until I finish the entire bowl.

"Thank you for being so patient with me these past couple of weeks," I say.

"It was nothing," he says.