When I got home, James was surprisingly in the kitchen wearing an apron.He rushed out when he saw me, nervously fidgeting with the apron. "You're back? I made dinner, perfect timing."I noticed his left hand wrapped in several Band-Aids, his thumb red and raw.In all our years together, I'd never let James cook a single meal. At most, he'd wash vegetables when we first got married.Whenever he wanted something special, I'd learn to make it. Through cut fingers and burnt skin, I never complained, just wanting to serve him what he craved.But how did he describe it?Called it pathetic, beneath me, self-inflicted suffering.Seeing his cautious demeanor now, I smiled mockingly. "James, who are you trying to impress with this act?"He hid his hands behind his back, lowering his eyes to hide his disappointment, his forced smile bitter as he spoke hoarsely."Rachel, I just want to apologize. Nothing happened with Sophie, she acted on her own today, I..."His phone interrupted him.
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