Chapter 2

I hadn't even put my phone down when I heard the sound of keys in the door—Preston and Rowan had returned home. "Daddy and I are back, Mommy! Has dinner been prepared?" Rowan asked. He then slipped off his shoes and ran into the kitchen. His expression instantly became one of rage upon seeing the single-serving meal. "You only prepared a meal for one? What about ours?" I crouched down and patted his head, replying, "I didn't know you two would be coming back home today. I'll cook something else for you right away." Rowan angrily swatted my hand away and yelled, "You're a homemaker, so preparing our meals is your responsibility! You should have prepared our favorite dishes even if you didn't know we were coming back! What are you even good at? You're not even a fraction of what Melanie is!" I couldn't help but clench my fists when I heard Rowan's accusation. I reminded myself that he was just a child, so I held back my anger and said calmly, "I'll cook up something real quick. You can have some fruit in the meantime. I'll have it ready in no time." It was then that Preston, who had been focused on his phone, suddenly looked up and said, "Your mother's been cooking the same few dishes for years now, and I've been sick of them for a while. Melanie said she's taking us out for a buffet, so let's go." "Melanie truly cares for me the most!" Rowan's scowl instantly disappeared, replaced by a joyful expression. He then grabbed Preston's hand and walked out the door without even sparing me a single glance. I heard their footsteps fade into the distance and let out a wry chuckle. I then took out a cake from the refrigerator, lit a candle, and murmured to myself, "Happy birthday, Samantha—even if you're all by yourself." It was my birthday today, but neither Preston nor Rowan remembered. I would have been gutted about it in the past. I would have been deeply hurt by Rowan's forgetfulness, even if I had moved past Preston. But now, I no longer cared about it, as I had been treated as less important than the dishwasher in the household for the past few years. Preston's endless criticism—like with my cooking just now—had become a daily event. He had said even worse things before. "You really lucked out marrying me, Samantha. You're set for life, and you don't even have to work. You would have been thrown out ages ago if you got together with another man." He was completely oblivious to my efforts, choosing instead to respond with contempt and ridicule. He constantly demeaned me, yet still expected me to be grateful to him. I had finally figured it out. I was done with this so-called luck of mine. I'd rather leave it to someone else!