My Fiancé Called Me Boring in Bed

"Are you going to stand by the stove all morning, or is breakfast actually happening?" Daniel asked.

His voice cut through the hum of the refrigerator. I didn't turn around.

"Scrambled or fried?" I asked, cracking the second egg against the rim of the pan.

"Scrambled. I don't have time to sit around."

"Right. You're very busy."

I picked up my phone from the marble counter. My thumb hovered over the Notes app.

"What are you doing on your phone?" he demanded. The floorboards creaked as he walked to the dining table.

"Checking the date," I lied.

"Why?"

"Do you remember what you did on August 4th?" I asked, looking over my shoulder.

Daniel stopped pulling out his chair. "What kind of question is that?"

"Just a simple one."

"I was working. Like I always am."

"Right. The emergency server crash."

"Why are you bringing up last month?"

"Just making conversation."

I turned back to the stove and opened the list I started last night.

*August 4th.* The night of our anniversary.

*August 12th.* My mother’s birthday dinner. He got held up in a client meeting.

*September 2nd.* A Tuesday. No excuse given, just a text saying, *Don't wait up.*

I typed out the rest from memory. Every single night he called to say he was stuck at the office. Every night I ate cold chicken and rice by myself.

Twenty-one entries. Twenty-one quiet, solitary meals while my husband was out doing god-knows-what.

"Hurry up, Vera," Daniel snapped, scraping his chair against the floor.

"Coming."

I slid the eggs onto a plate, grabbed his coffee mug, and walked over.

"Here," I said, extending the cup.

He didn't look up from his phone screen. His hand shot out, grabbing the ceramic middle. I released the handle. Our fingers remained miles apart.

As he brought the rim to his mouth, his cuff brushed near my face.

The scent hit the back of my throat.

It wasn't his usual cedar cologne. It was sweet. Sickly sweet. Jasmine and something synthetic, clinging stubbornly to the fabric of his sleeve from last night. There was no lipstick stain on the mug, just the invisible ghost of another woman invading my kitchen.

"Did you change your laundry detergent?" he asked suddenly, sniffing the air.

"No," I answered smoothly. "Why?"

"Smells weird in here."

"Maybe it's you," I suggested.

He finally raised his eyes, shooting me a dark glare. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just that you were at a crowded conference in Chicago. You probably picked up a smell from the airport."

He grunted, dropping his gaze back to his emails. "Yeah. Probably."

I sat down in the chair directly across from him. The morning light caught the sharp angle of his jaw. He looked tired. Not the good kind of tired that comes from honest work, but the drained, hollow exhaustion of keeping up a lie.

"How did the trip go?" I asked.

"Fine. Tired."

"Just fine? No big breakthroughs?"

"It was a standard quarterly review, Vera. Not a movie."

"Did it rain?"

"Poured," he lied without missing a beat. "Traffic was a nightmare."

"That sounds awful. You always hate driving in the rain."

"I didn't drive. I took a cab."

"Right. Of course." I rested my elbows on the table. "Did you at least get a good room to relax in?"

"Standard corporate box. Nothing special."

"Must have been exhausting."

"It was." He shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth. "The hotel was a dump, too."

"Really?" I tilted my head. "You usually book such nice places."

"Corporate downsized the travel budget. I got stuck in a shoebox."

I slid my phone onto my lap under the edge of the table.

*Business trip city: Chicago.*

*Hotel receipt city: Downtown.*

*Mismatch.*

"I'm sorry you had to deal with that," I told him, keeping my voice perfectly level. "A luxury suite would have been much better."

Daniel paused mid-chew. His eyes flicked up to mine, searching my face for a fraction of a second.

"Yeah," he muttered, swallowing hard. "It would have."

"Are you working late again tonight?"

"Why all the questions this morning?" He set his fork down with a loud clank. "You're interrogating me."

"I'm making conversation, Daniel. You complained I was boring last night. I'm trying to be engaging."

"I was drunk last night. Forget about it."

"You seemed pretty clear-headed to me."

"Drop it, Vera." He wiped his mouth with a napkin and tossed it onto the plate. "I have a massive project launching next week. I need focus, not nagging."

"So, you will be late."

"Yes. I will be late. Don't wait up."

"I won't."

"Good." He grabbed his phone and shoved it into his pocket.

Standing up, he adjusted his tie and picked up his leather briefcase from the floor. He didn't bother pushing his chair back in.

I remained seated, watching his morning routine unfold exactly as it had for the last three years. The same tie adjustment. The same grab of the briefcase. The same dismissal.

"I'm heading out," he announced, walking toward the entryway.

"Drive safe."

He stopped right behind my chair. A heavy hand dropped onto the crown of my head. He patted my hair twice.

"Be a good girl," Daniel said.

"I always am."

He didn't kiss my cheek. He didn't say goodbye. The front door opened and slammed shut. The deadbolt clicked into place.

I sat in the absolute silence of the kitchen.

A laugh crawled up my throat. It spilled out loud and sharp, echoing off the tile backsplash. I covered my mouth, grinning so hard my cheeks ached.

"A good girl," I whispered to the empty room.

I stood up and grabbed his coffee mug. Half of the dark liquid still sloshed inside.

Walking to the sink, I tipped the ceramic edge over the drain. The lukewarm coffee splashed against the stainless steel, washing away in a murky brown swirl.

I rinsed the mug, dried my hands on a towel, and pulled my phone out of my pocket.

Opening the ride-hailing app, I navigated to the family sharing settings. I found his profile. *Daniel Chua.*

Status: *Request Expired.*

I tapped the button to resend the location-sharing invite.

A text box popped up, prompting me to add a message.

My thumbs flew across the keyboard.

*So I can pick you up from work tonight.*

I hit send.

The screen shifted to a loading wheel, then settled on a green checkmark.

*Waiting for Daniel Chua to confirm.*

I locked the phone and carried it out of the kitchen.

Walking down the hallway, I pushed open the door to his home office. The study was quiet, smelling faintly of old paper and the same stale whiskey from last night.

I sat down in his heavy leather chair and placed my phone flat on the center of his desk.

He would accept the request. Refusing a simple, helpful gesture from his dutiful wife would raise too many red flags.

I stared at the dark screen, listening to the steady tick of the wall clock.

I was ready to wait all day.