I remember you mentioned your mom is great at cooking Southern dishes? I love those too.
Adrian, with a cheerful grin, replied, Yes, my mom’s cooking is amazing. It’s even better than what you get at restaurants. Both my dad and I love her food. If you like it too, Giselle, you should come over sometime, and I’ll ask her to cook for you.
Giselle’s eyes twinkled as she feigned surprise, Oh, really? Can I?
Of course you can, Adrian said matter-of-factly. You’re one of our favorite people, Giselle, so you’re always welcome at our place.
So, Adrian really likes Giselle, huh? Giselle chuckled and gently poked Adrian’s soft cheek.
Adrian nodded, snuggling against Giselle’s finger, I wish my mom could be more like you. She’s always nagging me, it’s so annoying.
…
The cold wind howled, and snowflakes danced in the sky.
Mila stood amidst the swirling snow, her hair and eyebrows dusted with white. Each word coming through her phone struck her heart, and her eyes reddened with unshed tears.
Yes, she was an excellent cook.
Because her husband and son loved spicy food, she had taken the time to learn from top chefs, mastering the art of Southern cuisine. On quiet weekends, she relished the chance to cook for them, her skills rivaling those of any high-end restaurant.
But hearing Adrian’s words left her chest tight with pain.
This was her beloved son, whom she’d cherished for seven years.
Seven years of care and devotion, only to be dismissed as bothersome and annoying, unlike Giselle.
She wanted to hang up, but a familiar yet distant voice stopped her — a voice filled with warmth that made her frozen hands tremble.
It was her husband, Lysander.
Mila’s heart ached with a numbing pain that forced a bitter laugh from her lips.
This was the work Lysander claimed kept him busy?
What did she receive in return?
Seven years of cold indifference, a punishment of silence.
Even their son grew more distant, shared in his father’s disdain for her.
She was invisible in her own home, a mere tool, unseen and unappreciated.
After seven years, she was finally clear-eyed. She couldn’t warm Lysander’s icy heart any longer.
It was time to end this.
The car’s soft yellow lights illuminated Mila’s pale, delicate face, her nose tipped with a cherry hue from the cold and warmth clashing.
Stretching her still-numb fingers, she sent a message to a lawyer friend she met while at Northpoint University.
They planned to meet the next day to discuss the details of the divorce and division of assets.