“Yes. For you.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I protested immediately. “This is your space.”
"It's yours now, that is, if you agree to work on this marriage with me."
24- callahan
After I showed her the library and told her she could do whatever she wanted with it, I went into the kitchen to reheat dinner while she showered.
The house was quiet. The only sound: faint running water upstairs. I loosened my collar slightly as I walked into the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator and pulled out the containers Maria had prepared earlier in the evening. Normally, Maria would handle everything. Tonight, I didn't mind doing it myself.
I set the containers on the counter. I began reheating everything and plating the food once it was warm enough. The quiet hum of the microwave filled the kitchen. Leaning against the counter, I rubbed a hand down the back of my neck.
Despite the peaceful evening, the conversation I had earlier that day still lingered in the back of my mind. The visit from my mother hadn't exactly gone well, proving that she had no intention to change.
I had barely finished plating the food when I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. I looked up just as Evania stepped into the kitchen.
She wore an ankle-length, loose-fitting dress that hid her figure yet made her irresistible. Her bright smile made it impossible not to smile back.
For the first time since everything had started between us, it felt like my wife and I were finally on the same page.
She walked over to the table and glanced down at the plates.
"You cooked?" she asked, sounding pleasantly surprised.
"Maria did," I corrected as I set the last plate down. "I just heated everything up."
She laughed softly before sitting across from me and picking up her fork. For a few minutes, we ate quietly. It felt comfortable. Easy. Then she glanced up at me.
"So," she asked casually, "how was your day?"
My smile faded. I hesitated, then said, "My mom stopped by the office today."
Evania looked up from her plate, her expression curious but calm. “Oh?”
I sighed quietly. “She still doesn’t approve of our marriage.”
I watched her closely, waiting for her reaction—a hint of irritation or anger, maybe. Instead, she simply shrugged, her demeanor calm and relaxed.
She actually shrugged.
“Well,” she said, taking another bite, “we’re already married.”
I stared at her in genuine surprise, taken aback by how easily she brushed off my mother's disapproval.
She continued eating like that settled the matter entirely. “She doesn’t have to approve,” she added after a moment. “She’ll just have to get over it.”
Her response was so carefree that it caught me completely off guard. I knew Vani was different from other women from the way she dismantled my mother's every attempt to be disrespectful, though I didn't expect her to be this unaffected.
When my silence lingered, her gaze lifted to meet mine, worry quickly filling her wide eyes. "I'm sorry, that was a bit insensitive of me. I'm sure she'll come around if she gets to know me." Her tone softened, betraying a hint of concern.
I almost laughed when she visibly winced at her own words. "Do you truly believe that?" I asked, searching her face for sincerity.
"No," she admitted. "But she's your mother, so I'll understand if you want me to be nice to her."
"You don't need to tolerate disrespect to make me happy or suffer injustice to keep the peace."
"Are you sure about that?" she mumbled, not looking away from me. "What if you change your mind?"
