Maya's POV
I was struck first by the burning smell. I rushed to the stove after dropping my coffee mug. David's favorite pancakes were turning to charcoal in the pan, and black smoke poured out of it. Once more.
"No, no, no!" I gripped the pan handle and whispered. My fingers were burned by the hot metal, but I held on. These pancakes needed to be flawless. It had to be flawless.
I started over after throwing the ruined pancakes in the garbage. I mixed fresh batter with trembling hands. This was the third batch this morning, but David couldn't know. He hated when I messed up breakfast
It was 7:15 AM on the kitchen clock. Like every morning for the past ten years , David would come downstairs in precisely five minutes. He wouldn't look at me as he ate, checked his phone, and sat in his chair. However, things might be different today. He might say the pancakes were good today and smile.
I made perfect circles with the batter as I poured it into the hot pan. I usually enjoyed the sizzling sound, but today I felt nauseous. There was a problem. It was like a storm approaching, and I could feel it in the air.
"Where's my backpack, Mommy?"
I nearly dropped the spatula when I jumped. Ethan, my eight-year-old son, was standing in the doorway, his hair disheveled from sleep. He wasn't looking back, but the sight of him filled my heart with love. His gaze was fixed on his tablet.
I whispered, "It's by the front door, sweetheart." "As usual."
He didn't express gratitude. He simply left while continuing to gaze at his screen.
I turned the pancakes over. Golden brown. Excellent.
My heart raced when I heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. David was on his way down. I hastily placed his plate with the pancakes in a tidy stack on the table. His favorite glass of fresh orange juice. Just the right amount of syrup and butter.
I said, "Good morning, honey," as soon as he entered.
David gave a grunt. He picked up his phone as soon as he sat down. As he scrolled through emails, his face was illuminated by the bright screen. Without looking up, he took a bite out of the pancake.
"How are they?" Holding my breath, I asked.
He muttered, "Fine," while continuing to stare at his phone.
My heart fell. "Fine" meant nothing. He didn't even taste them, which was fine.
To prepare Ethan's pancakes, I went back to the stove. I created a smiley face, a heart, and a star out of these. Ethan used to laugh and clap when I made shape pancakes when he was younger. He hardly noticed now.
I called, "Ethan, breakfast!"
He carried his tablet as he walked in a stumbling gait. I smiled broadly as I placed the plate in front of him.
"See, I created your favorites!"
Ethan took a moment to look at the plate. "These seem strange."
My smile broke. "They're meant to be entertaining shapes. Remember the time you once loved—"
Without glancing up from his game, he remarked, "Jessica makes better pancakes." "She adds chocolate chips and transforms them from strange blobs into actual objects."
The words were like a kick to the gut. Jessica. A coworker of David's who had been visiting more frequently recently. She was young, attractive, and everything that I wasn't.
I muttered, "I... I could put chocolate chips in yours next time."
Ethan gave a shrug. "Whatever."
I felt as though I was vanishing as I held the spatula. My own son believed that I was not the best cook. My husband couldn't even take his eyes off his phone long enough to sample my creation. When did I start to disappear from my own home?
"David," I said, attempting to maintain a steady tone. "Yesterday, the school called. Next week, they need both of us to attend Ethan's parent conference."
"Not possible. David said, "I'm busy," without raising his gaze.
"But His teacher said it's important-"
"You manage it. You're skilled at that.
The words hurt. You're skilled at that. As if I were the only one who dealt with things. Not his spouse. Not his spouse. Just someone who handled issues so he wouldn't have to.
I surveyed my kitchen. Every day, I cleaned the kitchen. The kitchen where I prepared three meals a day for people who hardly paid attention. I had spent a decade trying to make the kitchen flawless. However, nothing was flawless. For a long time, nothing had been flawless.
David said, "I have to go," and got to his feet. He still had half of his pancakes on his plate. "Today is a big meeting."
Without giving me much of a look, he kissed the top of my head, like he was patting a dog.
As he left, I said to his back, "Have a good day."
He didn't respond.
After eating, Ethan picked up his backpack. He said, "Bye, Mom," and started to head for the door.
"Wait!" I called. Would you mind if I walked you to the bus stop? We could discuss your day, or—"
He rolled his eyes and said, "I'm not a baby anymore." "Jessica believes that children my age ought to be more self-sufficient."
Jessica's name appeared once more. This is what Jessica says. That's what Jessica does. When did my son become more interested in her opinion than in mine?
I left alone when the front door slammed shut. There were dirty dishes and the smell of pancakes that no one really wanted around me as I stood in my empty kitchen.
Even though my hands were still shaking, it wasn't from anxiety. It came from a larger source. Something more frightful.
I watched Ethan board the school bus from the window. Something on his tablet was making him laugh. Joyful. Simply not pleased with me.
I heard it then. My blood froze at the sound. From upstairs came David's voice. He was laughing while he was on the phone. He used to laugh with me same way.
He was saying, "I am so excited to see you today." "Last night was fantastic."
I was having trouble breathing. David had mentioned that he was working late last night. He arrived home last night after I had fallen asleep.
His voice went on, "I know we have to be careful." However, Maya has no suspicions. She is too preoccupied with being a housewife to pay attention.
The world slanted to one side. To prevent myself from falling, I grasped the counter. acting as a housewife. That was his opinion of me. Ten years of caring for him and our son meant that to him.
David replied, "Yeah, I'll come get you after work." "After dinner, we can... well, you know."
His footsteps approached the stairs, and I heard them. He was approaching. Despite the fact that my entire world was collapsing, I rushed to the sink and began washing the dishes while trying to appear normal.
David straightened his tie as he entered the kitchen. He remarked nonchalantly, "I forgot my briefcase."
Unconfident in my voice, I nodded.
He picked up his briefcase and made his way to the door. He called back, "Maya?"
"Yes?" My voice was barely audible.
"Don't stay up late tonight. I have another meeting this night.
He was deceiving me. Lying while standing in our kitchen and staring directly at me.
I was alone once more when the front door closed. The silence felt different this time, though. It seemed definitive.
I went upstairs to our bedroom and took a seat on the bed that we had been sharing for a decade. The bed where I was no longer touched by him. The bed where he thought about someone else and feigned sleep.
On the nightstand was my phone. I opened it with trembling fingers and saw David's contact details. All day long, we would send each other heartfelt texts. When was the last time he sent me a message that wasn't about fixing something around the house or getting groceries?
I went back and read through months' worth of messages. Everything is business. completely cold.
Then my heart stopped dead in its tracks when I saw something. David had texted yesterday at 11:47 p.m. Not to me, though. His phone still had the message synced to our family plan. A message meant for someone else.
"I can't get you off my mind. Maya is sleeping. I wish you were here rather than her.
The phone fell out of my grasp and hit the ground.