Chapter 2

By the time I arrived, dinner was already in full swing.

"Destiny, you're late," the elder at the head of the table remarked. I felt the urge to roll my eyes. "I wasn't informed about this dinner plan," I replied and took a seat beside my husband, Walker.

The head of the Anderson family was Lady Grace Anderson. She built her empire from the ground up from a single motel and became a legend in the business world with a chain of malls, restaurants, and hotels, all both domestically and internationally.

However, out of the public eye, she was a strict and controlling woman with a constant need to manage the lives of those around her. Her three children were miniature versions of her, though they knew when to hold back.

The last layer of this family dynamic consisted of Lady Grace's grandchildren—Walker, his brother, and their cousins. They were the positive aspect of the family lineage.

As the maid brought in my dinner, Walker looked at me and asked quietly, "How was your flight?" I shrugged. "Why don't you ask the people you sent to watch over me? I bet they have a lot to say," I replied. He opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted.

"Walker, dear. I heard Chairman Terrence's daughter, Angela, just arrived yesterday from London," Lady Grace announced, causing the air around the table to tense. Walker looked at his grandmother and replied flatly, "Good for her." Lady Grace set her fork down. "She would like to have a chat with you."

I scoffed, drawing everyone's attention, but remained silent and began eating. Walker returned to cutting his steak. "Well, I'm sure no young, unmarried lady would want to have a private chat with a married man," he retorted.

We were familiar with these kinds of conversations, though it was still upsetting. This had been happening for the last two years. I hadn't been there long, and already Lady Grace was talking nonsense. Lady Grace scoffed, "Your marriage is hanging by a thread, and I'm sure you've both considered divorce. I warned you it wouldn't last. I've given you enough time to address the issues in your relationship, and now it's time to end it."

"Grandma—" Clack. The sound of stainless steel hitting ceramic drew everyone's attention to me. She sighed, "My God."

I stared at the broken wine glass, its shards scattered across the elegant dining table. The tension in the room thickened.

"Destiny, dear, I'm sorry," Lady Grace said, her tone unapologetic. "Someone needs to speak the truth. Your marriage is troubled, and pretending otherwise won't fix it."

My face flushed with anger as I glanced at Walker, who sat silently, glaring at his grandmother. I knew she never liked me right from the beginning, but she started doing all these unnecessary things right after we lost our child. And no matter what Walker did or said to stop her, she never stopped.

It's like she had been waiting for our marriage to fall apart. And now that it was, the floodgates were open and there was no stopping her.

"Grandma, that's enough," Walker finally spoke his voice firm and measured, though his knuckles were white around the fork in his hand. "We appreciate your concern, but we can handle our marriage."

Lady Grace raised an eyebrow. "Can you? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're both drowning in denial."

I scoffed. "I never knew you were such a relationship guru, Grandma."

Walker reached out, covering my hand with his. "Let's talk about this later, okay?" But I  pulled it away. "No. Why don't you keep talking? It seems you have a lot to say, Grandmother—" I paused and then continued, "—you know what? Don't." I stood up and tossed the napkin from my lap onto the table, but suddenly I felt a wave of dizziness.

"Great. You've killed my appetite with your unnecessary opinion. Nobody asked for your input," I muttered. Walker's mother shot a glare at me. "Shut up."

The five other elders in the room glared at me, shaking their heads in disapproval.

Adelaine, Walker's cousin, who sat next to me, gently took my hand. "That's enough, Destiny. You look pale," she said worriedly. As soon as she said that, I  staggered a bit. The dizziness was worsening.

Walker quickly grabbed me, holding me steady. "We'll be leaving now," he said, assisting me as we walked out.

Lady Grace sighed as she watched them leave, thinking, 'What a waste...'

My eyes watched the colorful city lights zipping by while Walker drove me home, the heavy tension between us didn't faze me. The annoying song on the radio was less grating than usual. However, the nauseating feeling in the pit of my stomach tormented me greatly.

Walker glanced at me. "I heard you were unwell," he stated rather than asked. "Then why are you telling me if you already knew?" I snapped. Walker slowed down at a red light. "Are you alright?" he asked. I ignored him, and he didn't ask again but kept glancing at me.

The paleness of my skin, the sweat forming on my forehead despite the air conditioning being set to mid, and the worn-out look on my face told him everything he needed to know. "We should go to the hospital," he said. "It's just jet lag. Don't make it a big deal," I replied.

"Okay," he said, then pursed his lips and spoke again, "I went to the gallery last week." He paused, then continued, "Jenna told me that you resigned."

I sighed, "Of course, she told you."

Walker tapped his finger against the steering wheel, "Why did you quit? You love your job."

"Walker, I just want to go home and rest, please," I replied dismissively. Walker gave me one last glance and didn't speak again for the rest of the ride.

Once we got home, I locked herself in the bathroom and vomited. Afterward, I began to feel better.

After a long day, I stepped into the warm shower. The water helped wash away my tiredness. I lathered my hair with scented shampoo, the steam made me feel relaxed. Rinsing off, I felt the tension in my muscles disappear, leaving a fresh feeling.

Barely an hour after I arrived and I had to deal with that stupid shit. I was glad that we could leave early and I was reveling in the quiet time.

Then I remembered that I wasn't alone; Walker was probably in his study, either working on his laptop or reading a book. I recalled our talk in the car and mumbled, "Who cares if I loved painting?"

I put on a loose T-shirt and some shorts before lying down on the covers of our queen-sized bed. Just as I was beginning to drift off the dreamland, my stomach growled.

A heavy groan came from my lips, remembering that I was barely able to get any food into my stomach, and vomited the one I managed to eat earlier. Contemplating whether or not I should go find something to eat or just sleep off the hunger, there was a soft knock on the door, "Dinner is almost ready, come out if you're done," Walker said and left.

I quickly slipped on my slippers and stepped out of the room. Walker was already at the stove, spooning soup into a bowl. I sat by the counter, watching him quietly.

Bathed in the warm glow of the light, he appeared to be hunched over. His chestnut-colored hair framed his face, highlighting his sharp cheekbones and full lips. The soft, flowing strands added a touch of elegance to his features.

Walker used to have a warm aura. Always smiling and laughing, but this Walker had become more detached. I, too, had once been happy, but the miscarriage and the accident had taken a significant toll on my mental health. As a result, I projected my grief and anger onto Walker, which was tearing our marriage apart.

Walker, filled with guilt, began to distance himself, believing that his absence might help me feel better. However, by the time we both recognized that this was harming our relationship, it was already too late.

He placed a bowl of soup in front of me and said, "Sorry if it tastes bad. I couldn't find anything decent in the refrigerator, so I just winged it." He then cleared off the counter.

I thought to myself, 'Anything you cook tastes fine,' but I simply replied, "It's fine." Walker hummed in acknowledgment and sat down across from me with his bowl of soup.

The warm soup comforted my stomach, easing the nausea that had been bothering me for some time. My hunger grew the more I ate.

Soon I was done and it wasn't enough. Walker must have read me and asked, "Do you want some more?"

"...No," I said and went to drop my bowl in the sink and wash my hands. A brief silence followed, but it was brief because soon after Walker spoke, "Destiny, concerning your job—" "I don't want to talk about it," I interrupted.

He didn't stop talking, "Destiny you can't keep doing things like this? What's next? Are you gonna close the gallery too?" he asked.

I used to be really into showcasing other people's artwork at every exhibition. The pieces I curated felt like a part of me, filled with love and passion. But after losing my child, that creative spark just vanished. It became tough to find meaning in the art that used to make me so happy, and when I finally did, the exhibitions felt flat and lifeless compared to before. The colors looked dull and the compositions just didn't have that energy anymore—it was a constant reminder of the joy I lost.

"Whatever happens in my life is my decision. Stop meddling," I said firmly, my voice tinged with sadness, and walked away, ending the conversation.