Chapter 3
Response to Dominick came in the form of cold, lifeless beeps over the line. After a few seconds of stunned silence, he angrily stuffed his phone back into his pocket and stormed out the door again. He went back to Madison’s place.
Even though he had been traveling with his beloved for a month, the packed itinerary was beginning to wear on Dominick.
When he mentioned wanting to eat, Madison immediately chimed in, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, “I’ll order takeout then. What do you feel like eating, Dom?”
For a split second, an almost imperceptible look of distaste flickered across Dominick’s face. Days of eating at restaurants and street stalls had taken their toll–his stomach had been protesting for a while now. Not that Madison would ever notice.
But he smoothed out his expression quickly, giving her a doting smile. “Anything’s fine. Just order whatever you like.”
I knew what Dominick truly wanted right now–a homemade meal. A refreshing salad and braised beef–the kind that wasn’t overly greasy or rich.
Dominick had a sensitive stomach and a strict palate–he liked his food light, with plenty of restrictions. I was the only one who could remember every little detail about what he liked and didn’t like.
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No scallions, ginger, or garlic. He avoided peanut oil like the plague. He refused organ meats and hated fish with too many bones. I knew which dishes needed a delicate touch and which ones needed to be rich and flavorful. Every detail about his diet, I had it down to a science.
Back then, whenever Dominick had been out for days of social engagements, he would always come home with an upset stomach, vomiting, and running to the bathroom for no apparent reason. During those times, all it took was the simplest homemade meal from me to calm his stomach–and his mood-
effortlessly.
But he never noticed what I did for him—or how much thought I put into it. In his mind, since he was the one making money, since he was the one “providing” for this household, everything I did was just expected.
Of course, Madison was different. In Dominick’s eyes, she was a pampered heiress, her hands too precious to ever hold a kitchen knife. The fact that she didn’t cook? Completely normal. Understandable, even. After all, her hands were more valuable than diamonds.
When the delivery arrived, I watched him poking around with a fork in the takeout box, hesitating and picking at the food without really eating.
Madison asked innocently, “Do you not like this stuff, Dom?”
Dominick smiled faintly and shook his head, though a flicker of
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disappointment still crossed his face. Madison, sharp–eyed, noticed something was off and pressed again. “Dom, it feels like you’re not into these trendy dishes at all. What do you actually like? I’ll order more of that next time.”
He then described his preferences as if they were nothing, saying, “I’m not picky. A plain Caesar salad, light braised beef- those are good enough for me.” His tone was casual, but there was something hard to define in his expression. It lingered in his eyes for just a second before disappearing.
I wanted so badly to tell Dominick that even a simple Caesar salad and braised beef weren’t as easy to make as he thought. But then again, it didn’t really matter anymore. Whether he knew or not wouldn’t change the fact that I’d already given up on him.
He barely ate anything from that meal. Afterward, he cleaned up the takeout containers half–heartedly and took the trash downstairs. I watched as he tossed the bag into the bin and then pulled out his phone again.
I watched as Dominick tried calling my phone again. Three times in a row. Each time, the automated voice told him the phone was turned off. Growing frustrated, he became visibly agitated, pacing back and forth while scrolling through his contacts over and over.
But he didn’t know a thing about my social circle, nor did he recognize any of my friends. After I quit my job, I’d lost touch with most of my former colleagues, too.
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When his search turned up nothing, Dominick finally dialed my mom. The moment someone picked up, his frustration boiled over. He demanded furiously, “How long is your daughter planning to keep this up? Tell Peyton this nonsense has to stop. If she keeps acting like this, I’ll divorce her!”
My mom never knew that, in this marriage, I was the one who constantly tolerated Dominick and compromised for him.
To stop her from worrying, every time she asked, I always told her over and over, “Mom, don’t worry, I’m really happy. Dominick loves me so much. He’d never let me suffer. Besides, I wouldn’t let myself be mistreated either.”
She always believed me without hesitation. But now, faced with this brutal reality, my mom was heartbroken. “Are you even human, Dominick? Your wife’s been lying in the ICU for a month, and not only do you ignore her, but you’re calling this nonsense?”
It was the first time I’d ever heard my mother’s voice so sharp and loud. In my memory, my mom had always been gentle, a little timid even. But now, this woman–my mother—was standing up against the world for me, her voice fierce and cutting. “Dominick, you heartless bastard! You don’t deserve my daughter!”
Dominick looked stunned, caught off guard by the verbal assault. But he quickly snapped back, his anger flaring, “Stop spouting this nonsense, you old hag! How the hell could Peyton
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be in the ICU for a month? Isn’t it enough for her to stir up trouble on her own? Now she’s dragging you into it, too? This is ridiculous!”
For a second, I caught a flicker of disbelief on his face. But beneath that was contempt, doubt, and sheer annoyance. It was at this moment I finally realized just how cruel and cold a man could be.
My mom, enraged by Dominick’s heartless words, screamed back at him, her voice cracking, “Dominick, even if my daughter dies and becomes a ghost, she won’t forgive you. And not just her–if I die, I’ll come back as a vengeful spirit and haunt you
too!”
Dominick’s hand clenched his phone so tightly his knuckles turned white, the veins in his neck bulging. “Shut up! Peyton can’t be dead! Tell her to get out here and face me. If she’s gonna die, she better divorce me first.”
B
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tr Gifts
After I stopped loving him, he begged me to…
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Chapter 4
