He somehow managed to find a spare key to my bedroom, yanked me out of bed like I was a ragdoll, and snapped, “Emily, are you a pig? Still sleeping at this hour?”
“Get up. I drove all the way across town to get you that chicken congee you love. Hurry up before it gets cold and you start whining.”
The urge to throw something at him was almost impossible to ignore, but he was already moving too fast for me to do anything about it.
I grabbed the thermos from the nightstand, torn between tossing it at his head or just holding onto it. Either way, I couldn’t shake the frustration bubbling inside me.
I’d been up until 3 AM last night, finishing revisions on a proposal my boss had urgently requested. He gave me a paid day off to make up for it, and I’d planned to sleep in… until Jack decided to ruin it.
This guy was unbelievable.
I finally let go of the thermos and flopped back onto the bed. Back when I still cared, I used to dream about him driving across town just to get me my favorite chicken congee. But he never did.
Now that I didn’t care anymore, now that I was completely over it, he suddenly started doing things like this.
I let out a bitter laugh, grabbing my phone and scrolling through Instagram out of habit.
An hour ago, Zoe had posted yet another lovey-dovey update.
“Ran all over the city just because I said, ‘I want to eat it.'”
The picture showed a bowl of chicken congee, seaweed, and egg flower soup, with two intertwined hands. One hand was wearing a wedding band, one that matched mine.
I laughed darkly at myself.
So, he did drive across town… but for her. Not for me.
I turned off the screen, about to roll over and go back to sleep, when Jack barged in again.
Seeing I hadn’t gotten up, he yanked the blanket off me without hesitation.
“Emily, I’m too nice to you. Getting you out of bed is like pulling teeth. Eat it or don’t, I’m giving it to the dog.”
I waved my hand dismissively, pulling the blanket back over me.
“Whatever.”
Let him feed the dog. I didn’t care anymore.
Jack stood there for a moment, clearly realizing something was off, but still not quite getting it.
When I finally woke up again, fully rested, it was already 2 PM.
My stomach growled, so I trudged downstairs in search of food.
The bowl of chicken congee was still sitting on the dining table, a note attached to it.
“Heat it up yourself when you wake up. Don’t forget about tonight’s family dinner.”
Without a second thought, I tossed the congee straight into the trash and walked into the kitchen.
Mrs. Thorne was cleaning up, and when she saw me, she immediately stood up.
“Mrs. Sullivan, you’re awake? Mr. Sullivan bought you chicken congee. Let me heat it up for you.”
I quickly stopped her. “I don’t want it. I threw it out already. Could you make me some noodles instead?”
Mrs. Thorne looked at me like I’d grown a second head but nodded, confused.
I didn’t blame her for being baffled. In the past, no matter how awful Jack’s cooking was, I’d always pretended to love it. Even if it was something I hated, like cold, soggy chicken congee.
But now, I was tossing it in the trash and asking for noodles instead. No wonder she thought I was acting strange.
