My Wife, the Cooking Pro

Everyone believes he married the perfect wife: gentle, capable, a true catch. Only he knows that the moment Claire enters the kitchen, she becomes a disaster—salt for sugar, soap for oil, wilted cabbage from the market. After three years, the kitchen quietly became his territory alone, and he joked that without him she would live on takeout forever.

Then a business trip changes everything. Watching their smart home app, he sees Claire in his apron, expertly reducing sauce for braised pork, serving a man from her phone album—David. "I promised these hands would cook only for you," she tells him. Returning home, he finds takeout containers staged in the trash and the stovetop polished to a mirror shine, exactly as he left it. For five years she has played the kitchen idiot flawlessly.

He tracks David to their old apartment and asks one pathetic question: is Claire a good cook? The answer—a culinary degree earned for David, sweet and sour ribs made before dawn though she claims to hate sweet food—leaves him with divorce papers and a dusty wooden box he was never allowed to touch.