The beginning of it all.

(ARIELLE’S POV)

The scent of the dinner wafted through the room, as I focused on my husband, Jared. His dark hair falling just right, framing his straight nose and sharp jawline. Even in his casual clothes, the man had an undeniable presence—broad shoulders, a sculpted chest. He could’ve walked right out of a magazine, yet here he was, with me.

It was our anniversary, and in commemoration of that, I had suggested that we had an indoor dinner– just the two of us.

Despite his usual aloof self, Jared had created time from his usual busy work schedule, and that was a gesture I considered lovely. Especially when he looked up at me with those smoldering eyes, it was hard to stay upset.

I had chosen to sit across from him instead of our usual dinning position–beside him because I wanted to see all of his reactions when I finally broke the good news to him.

You see, I just discovered that I am pregnant yesterday from our family doctor, and I stalled the news, so I could break it to Jared during the anniversary dinner.

Whatever way would have been better? Celebrating an anniversary, and the conception of a baby. Sounds like a double party to me.

“This meal is delicious, Arielle,” Jared commented, interrupting my line of thoughts. "I don't understand why I'm always awed by your culinary skill. You are a chef after all.”

I flashed him the most beautiful smile I could muster, feeling flustered by his compliment. “Thank you, Jared. That means a lot coming from you.”

He smiled back, but his was not as wide and bright as mine. “You didn't have to make so many dishes, though. Two or three would have been just enough. It's only the two of us after all.”

I clicked my tongue, there he went again. I was just about to reply to him, to tell him that it was our anniversary and I wanted to make it special, when his phone rang, the shrill sound disrupting the calm atmosphere.

Jared's face fell when he looked at the screen, and then his expression turned apologetic. “Excuse me, Arielle. I have to take this. It's work,” he said and rose to his feet.

I felt a lump form in my throat, as I nodded in understanding, trying to mask my disappointment.

“It's fine, go on. I'll be here,” I said, my voice coming out flatter than I intended.

“I'll make it up to you, I swear. I'll get you new jewelry, whatever you want,” he called out as he rushed out of the dinning room.

I reclined back on my seat, frustrated and disappointed. It’s 9 o’clock. Who leaves their home at this time for work? It’s our special day for crying out loud, and making it up to me with jewelry?

My eyes inadvertently rolled. Men need to learn that gifts are not always the key to a woman's heart; quality attention is.

I sighed for the umpteenth time. He hadn’t mentioned when he’d return, as usual. Would he even remember our anniversary when he was done with work? The food once appealing, now looked unappetizing. Our anniversary dinner, ruined by a work call.

Then I proceeded to cover the food. While at it, I decided that I will wait for Jared in the sitting room while entertaining myself with my favorite reality show.

I got to the sitting room to wait for Jared. Pregnancy reactions made me drowsy, and even before I knew it, I fell asleep and woke up with a start hours later. My eyes groggily opened to an eerily calm house. I was still on the couch, alone.

Looking up at the clock, my heart sank. It was a few minutes past 12 o'clock.

A painful realization dawned on me; our anniversary was over. Anger and disappointment enveloped me as I realized that Jared wasn't home yet. I had been excited to share my news with him, but now, that too was ruined.

I walked over to the dining room, the remnants of our anniversary dinner still laid out on the table. Fine, guess this was the karma for me, a star chef, taking a two-day leave and not cooking for my appreciative guests but cooking for my husband.

Sighing in resignation, I cleared the table and sent some of the food to the trash. 

In the early morning, I arrived at the restaurant, the familiar chaos of the kitchen greeted me like an old friend, and so did my colleagues. Their expression is a mix of concern and curiosity. 

“Arielle! You came so early! I thought you were taking a two-day off.”

I forced a smile, still feeling the pain of my ruined anniversary dinner.

Mr. Stone, my manager, a tall and imposing man with a kind smile, approached me as I was glancing through the newly modified menu.

“Arielle, got a few minutes to spare?” He asked.

“Sure,” I responded, looking up from the menu.

“There's an opportunity for overseas study, lasting three years. It's a great opportunity to improve and take your culinary skills to the next level. Are you interested?”

I hesitated, as I got lost in thought.

Three years. A long time to be away, especially with a baby on the way. But the idea tugged at something deep inside me—a chance to step out of Jared’s shadow and prove myself as a chef on my own terms. I’d always relied on his support, and as much as I loved him, I wanted to know what it felt like to succeed because of me, not because of us.

Mr. Stone noticed my hesitance and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Take your time, my dear. Think about it and discuss it with your partner. This is a lifetime decision, and I want you to be certain.” He patted me on the back and walked off.

I sighed, my mind racing with thoughts again. I tried to weigh the odds. Would Jared be okay with raising our child on his own if I eventually give birth? What about our marriage? Would he be able to survive the distance?

All these thoughts and more filled my mind as I returned to work, my hands busy as I prepped for lunch service.

Hours later, a waitress rushed into the kitchen, a distressed look on her face. “Ma, there's a customer insisting on seeing you,” she said, her voice urgent.

“What's the problem?” I asked, surprised.

“She wouldn't say, and she's being really rude,” the waitress responded. “She says she wants to see the chef in charge.”

I hurriedly took off my apron, washed my hands, and followed the waitress out to the dinning area.

“Hi, I'm Arielle, the head chef,” I said, stopping in front of the customer's table. “Sorry you’re upset. Can you tell me what’s wrong with the food?”

The customer, a pregnant woman, looked me up and down, her eyes blazing hot with anger. “Wrong? Everything! Your food tastes so bland,” she spat. “I can't believe you call yourself a chef.”

I listened patiently, and afterward, I defended my cuisine, explaining our menu and ingredients, but she remained adamant.

“I don't care about anything you say,” she snapped. “I'm going to wait for my husband to arrive and have you fired.”

What? I slightly frowned and maintained my professional demeanor. “Ma'am, I assure you that our food is prepared to the highest standard and with the best ingredients. If you'd like, I can make it up to you with a complimentary dish of your choice.”

The woman flipped her hair nonchalantly. “That won't be necessary. I still want you fired for almost poisoning me and my unborn child. Just wait for my husband to arrive and he will have you dealt with.”

I took a deep breath, excused myself and headed back to my office. The whole thing was absurd. I’d been a chef for years and seen my share of unreasonable complaints, but this was something else. Who did she think she was and who was her almighty husband could have me fired on a whim?

I was just about to get back to work when a knock sounded on my office door. “He’s here, Ma’am,” the waitress called out.

I sighed. It was already a rough day, and I only hoped to wrap up this nonsense quickly. I composed myself and stepped out. Whatever power this husband of hers thought he had, I wasn’t worried. I knew my work, and I knew my worth.

But as I walked back into the dining area, my breath hitched as I caught sight of a tall figure speaking to the woman. 

She saw me first and informed her husband, gesturing to me. And before he turned to face me fully, I already knew who the man was.

A burning sensation filled my chest as I stared at the gorgeous face that I slept with most nights.

It was Jared, my husband!