Chapter 2

The next morning, my fever had gone down to 99.5°F.

When I pushed open the bedroom door, a disgusting, sour smell hit me.

It smelled like fermented leftovers mixed with damp rags.

I walked into the kitchen. The half-raw steak from last night was still sitting on the counter, now covered in a greasy white film with fruit flies buzzing around it.

The puddles on the floor had dried, leaving filthy black footprints everywhere.

The dirty cutting board, the knife, and the blackened Le Creuset pot were piled in the sink, the drain clogged with vegetable scraps and mushy rice.

The trash can was overflowing, with eggshells, veggie scraps, and plastic bags scattered all over the floor.

The fridge door wasn’t fully closed, and condensation was dripping down the side, forming a puddle on the floor.

Ethan was lying on the couch, scrolling through TikTok. Seeing me walk out, he immediately sat up, looking like he’d been waiting for me.

"You're awake? Is your fever gone?"

He rubbed his stomach and stood up. "Babe, I'm starving. I didn't eat anything last night. Can you make some food quickly?"

"I really didn't know how to clean up the kitchen. It was too greasy. I was afraid I'd just make it dirtier."

Ethan looked at me with an air of complete entitlement, like a giant dog waiting to be fed.

I walked to the sink. The bottom of that $350 Dutch oven was covered in a thick layer of burnt, black carbon that even a steel wool pad probably couldn't scrub off.

I put on my rubber gloves and picked up the pot.

Ethan got off the couch, stretching as he walked toward the kitchen. "Just make something simple, I'm not picky..."

Before he could finish, I walked right past him with the pot, opened the front door, and threw it straight into the hallway trash chute.

A loud metallic crash echoed down the quiet hallway.

Ethan froze. "Chloe, what are you doing? That was a Le Creuset!"

I took off the gloves and threw them into the trash can. "Since you can't clean it, and I find it disgusting, it's garbage now."

His eyes widened, and he rushed to the trash chute.

"Are you crazy? That pot was over three hundred dollars! Has the fever fried your brain?"

I looked at him calmly. "I'm not crazy. I'm just cutting my losses."

"The pot is ruined. Keeping it would only serve as a daily reminder of how incompetent you are."

Ethan’s gaze slowly turned hostile.

"Chloe, how long are you going to keep acting up? So I messed up one meal. Do you really have to throw a tantrum and trash our stuff?"

"Every couple has to compromise. I'm a guy, I'm naturally not good at kitchen stuff. I'm trying my best to learn!"

I let out a cold laugh. "Trying your best? Ethan, you're twenty-nine, not nine."

"How are you so smart when you're making Excel pivot tables at work?”

“How are you so meticulous when you're presenting projects to your clients? How are you so sharp when you're memorizing gaming strategies?"

"But the moment you step into the kitchen, you suddenly can't tell sugar from salt?"

His face flushed red. "How is that even the same thing?"

"It's not. Because if you mess up at work, you get fired. If you play poorly in a game, your teammates call you out.”

“But if you mess up the housework, all you have to do is play the victim, and a fool like me will clean up after you."

"Your 'incompetence' is entirely selective."

I walked over to the entryway and grabbed my car keys.

"From now on, I'm not your mother. I have no obligation to teach you basic life skills."

"You made the mess in the kitchen. Either clean it up yourself, or pay for a professional cleaner. Stop using 'I don't know how' as an excuse."

Right then, my phone rang. My mom's name popped up on the screen.

I answered, and her frantic voice immediately blasted through the receiver.

"Chloe, what is going on with you and Ethan? He just called me, saying you're throwing a massive tantrum because you're sick, and that you're screaming and throwing things."

"You're almost thirty! How can you still be so immature?"

I looked at Ethan. He was standing a few feet away, guiltily avoiding my eyes.

So, he wasn’t just scrolling through TikTok earlier. He was busy playing the victim and complaining to my mother.