Jimena had already arrived and was sitting at the dining table with Theodore, having dinner. On the table were a variety of rich, nutritious dishes.
Theodore had an apron on, carefully peeling shrimp for Jimena.
"Jayla, you're back!" Jimena waved at me, smiling innocently, "Come join us for dinner."
"No need," I said coldly, "You two go ahead, I'm not hungry."
"Don't mind her!" Theodore lifted his head and glanced at me, his tone slightly annoyed, "If she doesn't want to eat, so be it. She's an adult, she won't starve. Besides, I made this dinner especially for you, not for her."
I couldn't help but feel a sense of absurdity.
After six years of marriage, even when I was pregnant, he had never once cooked for me. But now, he was willing to cook for Jimena, peeling shrimp for her with such care. I guess it really was true love after all.
I let out a self-deprecating laugh and started walking upstairs, but Theodore called out to me.
"Theodora, could you please change the bed linens in the master bedroom? Jimena's skin is delicate, and she's pregnant, so the bedding needs to be washed every day from now on."
I didn't turn around, and coldly replied, "I can't do it. Get her a maid."
Theodore Sinclair's face darkened with displeasure. "You're at home with nothing to do all day, and you won't even do this little thing?"
"I'm not your maid."
A flicker of anger flashed across Theodore Sinclair's face, and his expression immediately turned cold.
Just as he was about to get angry, Jimena, in a feigned sweet tone, patted his shoulder. "It's okay, Theodore. Don't get angry. If Jayla doesn't want to do it, don't force her. I'll just do it after dinner."
Theodore looked at her with tenderness in his eyes, and his tone softened instantly. "Jimena, you're pregnant. How could I let you do such heavy work?"
In the next moment, he snapped at me, "Jayla, look at Jimena. She's so thoughtful. Why can't you learn from her?"
I let out a sarcastic laugh, silently walking upstairs.
Jimena leaned into Theodore's arms, her voice sugary sweet as she spoke. "Theodore, do you think Jayla is upset that I moved in? If it's a problem, I can move back out. I wouldn't want to disturb the peace between you two."
"Don't listen to her!" Theodore dismissed it with a wave, "She's been living off me for years, and she still can't have a child. I haven't divorced her yet, and that's already merciful. Who does she think she is, speaking out?"
I quietly listened to their conversation, and it felt as if my heart had been stabbed with a vicious needle, the pain almost unbearable.
I suddenly recalled when Theodore proposed to me, swearing, "Jayla, I will love only you in this life, unchanging, never betraying you. If I break my word, may I never have peace."
But now, just a few short years later, he had completely forgotten his own vows.
How ridiculous.
That night, I slept in the guest room, just a wall away from Theodore and Jimena.
As I lay there, the sounds of their intimate whispers and sighs came through the walls, and my heart withered, like dry wood. Once despair settles in, you no longer feel sadness.
I couldn't help but wonder—would Jimena's baby survive in the end?
