5

Evelyn's POV

Clara is standing at the center of my kitchen, humming a soft tune as she stirs something in a pot. Her blonde hair is pulled into a high ponytail. She's wearing a casual purple jogger and a black tank top and she moves with this ease and familiarity that makes my stomach twist. Like she belongs here. Like she owns this space.

I clear my throat. “What are you doing here, Clara?”

She doesn’t jump or look startled. Instead, she turns her head slowly, a small, almost triumphant smile curling her lips. “Oh, Evelyn. You’re home already. I didn't hear you come in. I was just making Leonard his favorite soup. You know how much he loves it.” 

The way she grins and the casual way says his name, the intimate tone she uses—it grates against my nerves. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to keep calm.

“I wasn’t aware that Leonard asked you to cook for him. Or that you even had the right to walk into someone else’s kitchen uninvited. How did you get in?” I ask, folding my arms. The only people who know the password to the entrance gate are Leonard and I and of course his mom and the security team. 

Her smile widens, as though she’s enjoying my discomfort. “Leonard told the security to let me in” she stops what she's doing and walks closer to me. “You know, Leonard and I go way back, Evelyn. I mean way back. We have known each other since we were kids and we grew up having each other's back.” She giggles and goes back to stirring the pot. 

“I’m sure he doesn’t mind me cooking for him. Besides, this is his house too, isn’t it?”

Before I can retort, another voice cuts through the tension from behind me. 

“Well, I think it’s wonderful that Clara is making herself at home. Isn't it lovely?”

I turn to see my mother-in-law, Margaret Sinclair, stepping into the kitchen. She’s impeccably dressed as always, her pearl necklace glinting under the kitchen lights. Her sharp eyes scan me briefly before settling on Clara with approval.

“Mrs. Sinclair,” I say tightly, not bothering to mask my irritation. “I didn’t realize you were here either.” She gives me a thin-lipped smile, the kind that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I came to check on my son. And imagine my delight to find Clara here. It’s good for Leonard to have someone who knows how to care for him properly.”

The jab lands, but I refuse to let it show. “But I’m his wife. I think I’m perfectly capable of taking care of my husband.”

Margaret raises an eyebrow, her gaze flicking dismissively over me. “Of course, dear. But sometimes a man needs a bit of familiarity. Someone who truly understands him.” she rubs Clara’s shoulders in approval and it makes my heart ache. 

Clara laughs softly, the sound grating on my already frayed nerves. “Mrs. Sinclair, you’re too kind.”

I feel the heat rising in my cheeks, anger bubbling under the surface. This is my house. I shouldn’t have to stand here and justify my place in it, not to Clara, and certainly not to my mother-in-law.

“Clara,” I say, forcing my voice and myself to stay steady. “I’d appreciate it if you left. Now.”

But before she can respond, Margaret steps in.

“Evelyn, don’t be so rude. Clara is a family friend, I'm sure you know that. She’s just trying to help. Honestly, you could learn a thing or two from her. Don't take her kindness for granted.”

The unfairness of it all stings. I glance between the two of them, feeling outnumbered in my own home. This isn't fair. This isn't right. 

“I’m not trying to be rude,” I say, my voice clipped. “But this is my house, and I think I have the right to decide who gets to cook in my kitchen.”

Margaret scoffs, “Nonsense. This is my son's house dear. Leonard doesn’t see things in such black and white terms. He values people who make an effort. Clara…she's simply being thoughtful.” 

Clara steps forward, her voice soft and deliberately sweet. “Evelyn, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. That wasn’t my intention. I just wanted to do something nice for Leonard. He’s been so stressed lately, and I thought... well, as his friend, I could help ease some of that.” I know she probably didn't mean the apology. 

The way she says ‘friend’ makes it sound like so much more.

I take a step closer, meeting her gaze directly. “If you truly wanted to be thoughtful, Clara, you would’ve asked me first. Because I’m his wife, and I think I know what’s best for my husband.” I say as I try my best to be bold. To match up her—their energy. 

The silence that follows is heavy, charged with unspoken words. Clara’s confident facade cracks just a little, and I take a small, bitter victory in that.

But Margaret, ever the peacemaker when it suits her, steps between us. “Ladies, there’s no need for all this tension. Clara dear, why don’t you finish up, Evelyn why don't you help me set the table, my son will be home soon.”

The dismissal is clear. And though every fiber of my being wants to stand my ground, I know I won’t win this battle. Not today.

I force a tight smile. “Of course.” I reply and follow Margaret out of the kitchen to the dinning area. 

I reluctantly set the table with Margaret. When we are finished, she goes to meet Clara back in the kitchen while I find my way upstairs. I need to shower and I need to rest. While I my room, I can hear their laughter echoing around the house.