My Husband Left Me for His Mistress

Cooking was brutal—especially when you're pregnant and running on fumes. With nearly twenty guests to feed, I was on my own in that kitchen, my body heavy and weak. The task hung over me like a mountain, promising to drain every last ounce of my strength, and maybe even send me to the floor. I cast a desperate glance at Lawson, silently pleading for help. But he played oblivious, his tone firm. "Just tell us what you want to eat, and I'll have Kyren deliver the ingredients."

Lexi lit up at that, planting a joyful kiss on his cheek. "You're amazing, Lawson!"

She jumped right into taking orders, her voice bright and chirpy. "One pulled pork sandwich!" "A serving of shrimp linguine!" "And a bowl of clam chowder!"

While the cheerful chaos buzzed around them, I felt like an outsider, trapped in my own skin, the walls closing in inch by inch.

My old burn scars throbbed, dragging me back to another time. Back then, we were broke—scraping pennies just to get by. Eating out? A luxury we never allowed ourselves. So I cooked every single day, packing Lawson's lunches and making sure he was fed. He'd look so satisfied, pulling me close and saying, "Your cooking is out of this world—nothing else comes close."

That was until a boiling pot tipped over my hand, blistering my skin in seconds. We couldn't afford burn cream, so Lawson brought home some ice from a nearby store and stayed up all night, nursing me through the worst of it.

My hand eventually healed, but the ugly scars stayed.

Riddled with guilt, he beat himself up over it, tearfully vowing, "I'm sorry I couldn't be better. One day, when I make it big, you won't have to set foot in a kitchen again. You'll have the finest of everything."

But now? All of that felt like ancient history—erased, as if it had never happened.

The ingredients arrived right on time, and Lawson's cold stare drove me toward the kitchen. Bitterness coated my mouth, dry and sharp. I swallowed it down. I owed him this much, didn't I? So I resigned myself to pay.

It had been ages since I'd held a knife properly. No surprise, I nicked myself within the first few minutes of chopping vegetables. I ignored the sting, running my hands under cold water before pushing on. By the time I finished, my hands were crisscrossed with fresh cuts—some still oozing red. I was drained to the bone, every muscle screaming for rest. I forced the words through cracked lips: "May I leave now?"

Finally, a flicker of concern crossed Lawson's face. He started to say something—but Lexi cut him off, lifting a forkful of food to his mouth. He waved a hand dismissively and told Kyren to take me home.

When we pulled up to my temporary place, Kyren lingered at the door. Then he handed me an expensive-looking tube of ointment. "Mr. Simmons asked me to give you this. It'll help with the scarring."

I blinked, confused for a moment. Then I shook my head. "That's not necessary."