Chapter 3

After putting my son to sleep, I went to the laundry room to collect the clothes. I only folded my son’s and mine.

Julian, who was watching from the hallway, snapped, "Chloe, do you really have to be this dramatic over a stupid fight?"

I ignored him, walked past him, and returned to my room.

When I came out after putting the clothes away, Julian had left a pile of dirty dishes on the table and locked himself in his study again.

This time, I didn't care. I went straight to the kitchen to prepare dinner for my son and myself.

As the scent of my cooking filled the apartment, Julian opened his study door.

Seeing our son sitting on the play mat, Julian did something completely out of character. He picked him up and started playing with him, constantly glancing at me to make sure I was watching.

When I finished cooking, I set the table with only two sets of forks and plates—for me and my son.

Julian stood there, holding our baby, his face turning red with anger.

"Chloe, what the hell is this supposed to mean?!"

I took my son from his arms and threw his own words back at him in the same cold tone.

"If you want to eat, make it yourself."

Julian laughed in pure anger. "Fine, Chloe. You're really something!"

I ignored him completely, put my son in his high chair, and focused on feeding him.

Julian stood there for a few more minutes, hoping I would back down. When I didn't even look up, he stormed back into his study, slamming the door.

I didn't try to please him. After we finished, I scraped the leftovers straight into the trash.

If he was hungry, he could feed himself.

Before, I had been foolishly worried about his health, rushing home from miles away just to cook him a fresh meal. No more.

The next morning, I turned off my alarm. I snuggled with my son and slept in, not caring when Julian left for work.

Over the next few days, Julian and I lived like strangers in a silent war.

The explosion finally happened when Julian realized his dirty laundry had been sitting in the basket for three days.

He grabbed the laundry basket, marched into the living room, and dumped it on the floor in front of me.

"Chloe, what is your problem?!" he roared.

I calmly stepped over to my son's room, shut the door to protect his ears, and turned to Julian. "Didn't you say it yourself? If I don't want to do it, I don't have to."

Julian choked on his rage. "Then I guess I don't have to pay for the household expenses either, right?!"

I shrugged, completely unfazed. "Do whatever you want."

For years, most of his income had been spent on his "artistic" lifestyle anyway. The allowance he gave me barely covered the groceries.

If I hadn't been doing freelance graphic design work on the side to support us, my son and I would have been on the streets long ago.

"Fine! You're really pushing it, Chloe!"

Julian kicked the laundry basket across the room and locked himself back in his study.

My heart felt absolutely nothing. I turned off the TV, walked into my bedroom, and went to sleep with my son.

In the middle of the night, I woke up to get a glass of water. Looking out toward the balcony, I saw Julian standing in the moonlight, pouring detergent into the washing machine.

His white work shirts were already freshly hand-washed, hanging on the rack and blowing in the wind.

A bitter sting hit my chest.

So, he did know how to do laundry. He did know how to wash clothes. He just chose not to.

The next day, I dropped my son off at daycare. I went home, polished my resume, and started looking for full-time jobs online.

Julian was surprisingly sitting in the living room. Seeing me busy at my laptop, he crept over.

When he saw I was looking at job postings, he immediately sneered.

"Chloe, you've been a housewife for years. What kind of job do you think you can actually get?"

I didn't reply. I grabbed my printed resume, walked right past him, and headed out for my interview.

Julian’s face twisted into an even uglier scowl.

After the interview, I rushed to the daycare to pick up my son.

On the way back, I got a text from Julian: [I have a friend coming over tonight. Make a nice dinner.]

I didn't want to embarrass him in front of his guests, so I stopped by the supermarket and bought groceries.

But when I carried the heavy bags and my son through the front door, my blood ran cold with rage.