Amara Malik's life underwent a dramatic transformation from her successful career as a food scientist and accomplished sous chef at renowned establishments such as Claridge's and the Prime Minister's office. She made the pivotal choice to become a d...
I find myself standing in my cozy kitchen, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. I'm in the midst of cooking tamagoyaki, the sizzling sound of eggs filling the room as I expertly flip the delicate omelet. But as I go through the motions of preparing breakfast, a nagging question lingers in my mind: why am I still cooking for that ungrateful, cheating husband of mine?
I've played the role of a dutiful wife for far too long – taking care of the house, tending to his every need – all in the hope that it would keep him from straying. It's the narrative I was taught growing up, the one that's supposed to guarantee a happy marriage. But it's a story that's lost its charm, replaced by bitterness and resentment.
As the tamagoyaki sizzles in the pan, I'm reminded of the real reason I'm enduring this charade – the impending funeral of my late grandmother overseas. To say we weren't close would be an understatement. Our interactions over the years were limited, and any semblance of a genuine relationship was nonexistent. Yet, I'm not attending the funeral out of love or respect. No, my motives are far less sentimental.
The truth is, I'm hoping to secure my share of any inheritance that might be revealed during the will reading that follows the funeral. It's a greedy aspiration, one I never thought I'd harbor. But the looming prospect of a costly divorce demands every resource I can muster. It's a means to an end, a step toward freedom from the man who's betrayed our vows. And so, as I continue to cook, I acknowledge the self-serving nature of my actions, knowing that they're driven by a desperate desire for independence.
I gaze at the tamagoyaki sizzling in the pan, contemplating whether to enhance its flavor. An idea crosses my mind – perhaps a touch of flakes, some veggies, or a garnish could add that extra umami and depth. My eyes fall on a container of small dried shrimps. Instantly, I pause, my thoughts taking a darker turn. Ethan, my husband, is severely allergic to these shrimps, but I've always enjoyed their unique taste on my dishes.
A pause gripped me as I considered the implications. You see, my previous work had been in the field of food science and nutrition before I transitioned to become a sous chef, and eventually, a homemaker. I knew all too well that introducing an allergen into a person's food could range from causing mild discomfort to potentially fatal consequences. In that fleeting moment, I entertained a vengeful thought – crushing a single dried shrimp and surreptitiously incorporating it into the tamagoyaki. He wouldn't even notice it, but he would undoubtedly experience a mild allergic reaction. The idea was tempting; I yearned to see him itching, to inflict a small measure of pain in return for the hurt he'd caused me.
But before I could act on this vindictive impulse, the sound of the kitchen door opening caught my attention. There he was, Ethan, entering the room and taking a seat at the table. His surprised expression revealed his astonishment at finding me still cooking, despite the heated argument we'd had the night before.
"Oh, look who's in a good mood!" he remarked, his tone laced with surprise as he observed my culinary endeavors.
I simply cast a glance at him and chose to ignore his presence, returning my attention to the tamagoyaki sizzling in the pan. With a gentle push of my palm against the handle, the egg mixture on the surface loosened, allowing me to skillfully roll it into delicate, crepe-like shapes.
Once I had achieved the perfect texture, I transferred the tamagoyaki onto a rustic wooden chopping board and carefully sliced it into bite-sized pieces. Plating the dish, I served it to my husband, accompanied by a cup of meticulously brewed coffee that I had prepared by hand.
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I took my seat across from him and poured myself a cup of the drip coffee I had prepared.
"I'm pleased to see you've remembered your role," he remarked casually as he began to enjoy the tamagoyaki. I suppressed the urge to retaliate by throwing the hot piping cup of my beverage right at his face, opting instead to avert my gaze and take a sip of my coffee.
He continued, his tone nonchalant, "This is quite delicious," as he savored the tamagoyaki and washed it down with the coffee I had meticulously brewed.
"Ethan," I began, not wanting to prolong this interaction, I decided to get straight to the point.
"Hmm?" He looked up from his meal, curiosity in his eyes.
"I need a favor," I stated.
"I see... so this is what this is about," he replied with a smug grin on his face. "Okay, fine, what is it?"
I took a deep breath, "I need to attend a funeral overseas. It's my grandmother's, and I just need a week. Can you help me get a ticket? A return ticket," I added, emphasizing my intention to come back. It was important to assure him of that, although I had no plans to run away. After all, I had nowhere to go, no relationship with my relatives, and was in low contact with them. But he didn't know that.
"I'll also prepare a week's worth of meals so you won't have to worry about dinner," I assured him, hoping it would sweeten the deal.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Amara," he replied, appearing genuinely sympathetic. But whether it was genuine or not, I couldn't help but feel a surge of anger rise within me.
"All right, when do you need to leave?" he asked, curiosity creeping into his voice.
"Tomorrow," I replied, though there was no real urgency. My main motive was to distance myself from him before I did something regrettable, something that would cause him harm. It wasn't the person I used to be, but it was the path I found myself on. I needed some breathing room from this situation. When I returned, I hoped my mind would be clearer, and I could better assess how to handle this problem.
He let out a sigh and fixed his gaze on me, attempting to discern any signs of deception.
"Please, Ethan," I pleaded, feigning deep distress. Though I had no real feelings for my grandmother, I managed to summon a few tears to enhance my act's authenticity. "I truly need your help, especially with everything that's been going on. It's been unexpectedly tough for me. Please, I just need your support right now."
Ethan sighed, pushed back his chair, and enveloped me in a tight embrace. I resisted the urge to step away; his arms didn't provide the same solace they once did when I first discovered his affair. I still harbored feelings for him, but they were undeniably changing, and I was gradually disengaging from this marriage.
"Alright, alright... calm down," he murmured, planting a soft kiss on my forehead. Goosebumps prickled my skin, though not from the affectionate gesture; it was the mounting discomfort that caused them. Despite my unease, I couldn't bring myself to break away. I had to maintain this facade until I could board that plane to Davao.
