Goodbye, Toxic Love

Chapter 1

On my son’s birthday, I spent the whole day baking his favorite flower-shaped cake.

When he found out, he just coldly told me to send it to a private room.

I casually asked, "Aren’t you spending your birthday at home?"

My ten-year-old son immediately snapped, "What’s it to you? You’re just spending my dad’s money and think you can boss me around?"

"I’m going to eat with Aunt Cece. What do you know, you country bumpkin!"

My husband, Ethan, grabbed his phone and said, "You reek of cooking oil. The cake doesn’t even smell good now. I’ll just order takeout."

That night, while scrolling through my son’s i********:, I saw a photo of the three of them, all smiling happily together.

And there I was, alone at home, staring blankly at the family photo on the table, clutching my phone tightly.

*****

I sat there for hours, waiting until late into the night when I finally heard the sound of the door.

Instinctively, I went to greet them, took off their shoes, and went to hang up their coats.

"I’m home. I’ll run a bath for you both. Are you hungry? Do you want me to prepare something for a late-night snack?"

It was a habit that had settled deep into me since I became a full-time housewife.

But tonight, there was a woman with them.

She had a soft, sweet smile and said, "I think Mrs. Beaufort is great, she’s not as useless as you said."

Her words, however, were laced with hidden barbs.

As our eyes met, my chest tightened, and I couldn’t help but think back to how they had treated me earlier. I froze in place.

"Aunt Cece, don’t be fooled by my mom’s appearance. She’s the best at pretending," my son, Chris, immediately grabbed her hand and pulled her inside.

Ethan glanced at me and said, "Go and prepare the guest room. Cece will stay here from now on."

He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

As a full-time housewife, it was expected that I take care of the family, but for someone like Cece—an outsider who hadn’t even been properly introduced—it was outrageous that she could just move in without any hesitation.

"What are you standing there for? Cece can’t stay up too late," Ethan frowned and impatiently urged me.

"Ethy, don’t be so harsh on Laurie. She’s upset because it’s sudden. It’s normal," Cece immediately interjected, tugging at his hand, her face full of understanding.

Their hands intertwined, and Ethan didn’t seem to pull away.

My heart sank. Before I had a chance to speak up, Chris heard them and stormed over, holding his toy knife.

"Y"You’re living off my dad, eating his food and drinking on his dime every single day! And now what’s there to be upset about?" he shouted, waving the toy knife, hitting me sharply in the knee.

I had been on my feet all day making the cake he had asked for, and my knee already hurt. Now, it was even worse.

I involuntarily winced.

Ethan’s frown deepened. "Stop pretending, I’m not asking for your opinion, I’m telling you."

"You promised me you’d listen to me and take care of this family."

My chest felt like it was being torn open.

Looking at the two of them, I started to doubt my own choices.

Is being a full-time housewife really as happy as everyone thinks?

I gritted my teeth and forced down the discomfort in my chest, heading to prepare the guest room.

Ten minutes later.

"What’s taking so long?" Ethan’s irritated voice came from the hallway.

I looked at him, and I couldn’t help but ask, "What’s Cece’s role in all this? Why is she staying here?"

He immediately shot me a glare, his eyes full of anger. "You’re a housewife, just do as I say. Cece is the daughter of my mentor. She had some problems with her family, so she’s staying here for a while."

"Lauren, don’t think so dirty about our relationship."

"If there was anything going on between us, would I be bringing her in and asking you to prepare a guest room?"

His words weren’t entirely without reason. From what I knew, there wasn’t anything going on between them yet.

But now, with his impatience toward me, and the way he couldn’t even say a single sentence calmly, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the day when they would cross the line wasn’t too far off.

"Alright, stop overthinking. Later, I’ll rub some ointment on your leg," his voice softened a little.

I thought back to the early days when I first started cooking. He was so concerned, buying me all kinds of skin-care products to protect me from the oil. I said it was just a waste of money, but he said he just wanted me to be better.

Every time I got burned or hurt, he would show me so much tenderness, gently helping me apply the ointment.

That lingering kindness pulled me in. I couldn’t help but follow him back to the bedroom, hoping to feel that old excitement again.