Amanda bought a lot of groceries.
I couldn't help but notice—most of the things in the cart were my favorites.
So she did know me.
She just never cared.
At the checkout counter, Amanda glanced at the total and muttered, "I can't believe beef has gotten this expensive..."
I tried to make casual conversation, something to fill the silence.
"Do you even buy beef for yourself?"
But the words came out colder than I intended.
Amanda's hand stiffened slightly as she reached for her wallet.
"I left with nothing after the divorce, so I don't have money to waste," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Neither of us spoke as we walked back to the car.
It wasn't until we were on the road that she broke the silence.
"You don't have to do this," she said quietly. "You know my income is much higher than yours. I can—"
"No."
I cut her off before she could finish.
I wasn't interested in dragging out this conversation. I just wanted to get the divorce over with.
Amanda fell silent again, as if avoiding the topic would somehow make it disappear.
When we got home, she carried the bags into the kitchen and started unpacking.
For a moment, I found myself staring.
I hadn't cooked in a long time.
Living alone had killed whatever enthusiasm I once had for making meals. I'd been surviving on takeout and instant food, eating just enough to get by.
But now, as the rich aroma of cooking filled the house, something shifted in the air—something that almost felt like home.
I remembered the early days of our marriage, when I used to cook all the time.
Life had been tough, money was tight, but back then... we were happy.
Until things changed.
Until Ethan came along.
After nearly two hours, Amanda finally set the table with three dishes and a soup.
I looked at the spread, but I didn't feel hungry.
"You didn't have to make so much," I said flatly. "It's just the two of us. We won't finish it."
"It's fine," she said lightly, brushing off my comment as she busied herself serving rice and soup, moving around the table like a dutiful wife.
But I knew better.
Love wasn't the only thing she could fake.
Being a perfect, caring wife? That was easy.
I barely touched my food. I only picked at it with my chopsticks, pushing things around my plate.
Amanda hesitated, as if wanting to say something, but in the end, she stayed quiet.
The silence between us was suffocating.
After I'd eaten just enough to call it a meal, Amanda wordlessly gathered the dishes and took them to the sink.
The once untouchable CEO, the woman who never lifted a finger at home, was now scrubbing dishes in my kitchen, an apron tied around her waist.
Anyone who saw this would be shocked.
Or maybe they wouldn't.
Because in Ethan's eyes, this was probably nothing new.
She had always been soft and gentle with him. Cooking and cleaning for him was probably just part of her daily routine.
She had never been like that with me.
And yet, her movements were practiced. She knew exactly what she was doing.
I sat on the couch, neither stopping her nor acknowledging her.
It wasn't my job to wake someone who was only pretending to be asleep.
Once the kitchen was clean, Amanda walked over and sat beside me, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Lucas..."
Before she could finish, I frowned and stood up, heading straight for my study.
Amanda sat frozen on the couch, grief flickering in her eyes.
He won't even stay near me anymore...
Later that night, I heard the shower running.
I clenched my jaw.
Was she planning to stay?
Taking a deep breath, I walked over to the bathroom door and spoke, my voice cold and distant.
"Leave when you're done."