The Unwanted Wife's Return (Ex-Husband Wants Me Back) novel Chapter 319

Being An Understanding Wife 

MARY’S POV: 

The name hit me like a slap. 

“Vesper,” I said carefully. 

“An old friend from the university. She’s dealing with some things-her lease is up, and there’s some construction at her new place, and she doesn’t have anywhere else to go. I said she could crash here for a few weeks. Maybe a month.” He took a sip of his coffee, watching me over the rim of the mug. “I meant to tell you last night, but it was too late when I got home, and then everything with Elowen happened, and I just… I didn’t get the chance.” 

An old friend. 

The same words he had used before. The same lie, wrapped in slightly different packaging. 

“She’s here now?” I asked. Pretending I didn’t already know. 

“She arrived late last night. I let her in while you were putting Elowen to bed.” He set down his mug and crossed his arms, and his expression shifted into something almost like expectation. Like he was waiting for me to object so he could dismiss it. “I’d appreciate it if you made her feel welcome. Cook a few of your best dishes. Show her around the neighborhood. She’s going through a difficult time, Mary. The least we can do is be gracious hosts.” 

Cook for her. 

He wanted me to cook for her. 

The woman I had found sleeping in my guest room, in my husband’s presence, in the middle of the night-and he wanted me to make her feel welcome. 

Something inside me cracked. 

“Of course,” I heard myself say. “I’ll take good care of her.” 

He smiled that relieved, self-satisfied smile that said I knew you would be reasonable. “Thank you, Mary. I knew I could count on you.” 

He kissed my forehead. A peck, really. 

Then he walked toward the staircase, already pulling out his phone again, already dismissing me from his mind. 

I stood in the kitchen for a long time after he left. Long enough for the sun to rise fully, for the morning light to spill through the windows and illuminate the dust motes floating in the air. Long enough for me to hear movement from the guest room-the soft pad of footsteps, the creak of the bathroom door, the sound of water running in the sink. 

I went to the kitchen because I needed to do something with my hands. I needed to stay busy, to keep moving, to stop myself from walking upstairs and dragging Vesper out of my house by her beautiful dark hair. 

I opened the refrigerator. Stared at the contents without seeing them. My hands reached for vegetables, for meat, for the spices I had arranged in alphabetical order because organizing my kitchen was the only thing in my life I could control anymore. 

I started cooking. 

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