The Wife He Couldn't Destroy

na

t was a simple, logical step to alleviate the burden of household chores. I did not feel guilt about it. This

l be here three times a week, and the chef will prepare all meals, customized f

eyes narrowed. "You never let strangers in our house before," he accused, his v

d. "I am his mother. Only I can ensure his safety." My words back then were fueled by a desperate desire to be indispensable,

is?" The word "Mommy" seemed to catch in his

past emotion. But it vanished quickly, replaced by the cold, clear logic that now gov

ing my calm, even tone. "It ensures your safet

always did this when you wanted attention. Remember that time you dyed your hai

er me. I remembered that incident. A childish, attention-seeking stunt from a woman suffocating in a marriage of n

h that freed me from that suffocating, insecure version of myself.

re. Koby, eager for distraction, jumped up and ran to answer it. "I'll

yway. Voices, one sharp and familiar, another ove

rflowing with what appeared to be homemade cookies. Her smil

sing Karl directly, ignoring me completely. "I just whipped up some of Koby's favorite peanut butter cookies!

He looked from Bianca to me, his eyes wide with a sudden, dawning h

anyone else with Koby's food. And Bianca knows Koby's diet, apparently. She makes his favorite treats." The ir

our chef!" he protested, his voice rising in panic.

patient on family retreats, Karl. And she already cooks for Koby. You yourself said she knows his diet. W

ca, meanwhile, looked on, her eyes red-rimmed, a tear tracing a path down

een so kind to me, and I felt so indebted. I thought... I thought I could repay your generosity." Her voice broke, a perfect

the basket of poison she h

y. Then I walked to the kitchen drawer, pulled

ning, I'm taking these to a lab. Along with the cerea

white. Bianca's

ward the stairs. At th

in this house tomorrow. I sugg