Chapter 1Trash the Invites, Trash Him Too

I had been with Christopher for over five years.

That day, I came home with the freshly printed wedding invitations, planning to surprise him.

The kitchen light was warm and inviting. He was laughing and joking with the new housekeeper.

She took a spoonful of soup from his bowl, tasted it, and then playfully tapped his chest. “You’re lying. It’s not salty at all.”

My fingers tightened, crumpling the invitations into a ball. I walked straight to the trash can and threw them in. “Looks like my fiancé is getting a new girlfriend.”

* * *

Sarah had only been with us for a month. She was the cousin of our regular housekeeper, Mrs. Davis.

A few weeks ago, Christopher had gone skiing and broken his leg. The doctor had ordered two months of strict bed rest. Just then, Mrs. Davis had a family emergency and had to leave in a hurry, so she asked her cousin to fill in for her. I was away on a business trip when she arrived.

With Christopher unable to travel, I, as the vice president, had to oversee the company’s out-of-state projects. During that time, he mentioned her a few times in our chats: “Sarah is really efficient. And she’s a great cook.”

I assumed she was around Mrs. Davis’s age and mentally filed her under “dependable, middle-aged housekeeper.”

But when I got home and opened the door, the woman I saw was only a few years older than us. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, her apron was spotless, and her expression was neutral.

I set down my bag and smiled. “Sarah, I picked this silk scarf out for you at the mall. Thank you for taking care of Christopher all this time.” I took a gift box out of my bag. It was originally for Mrs. Davis. I always brought her a small gift when I returned from a trip, partly as a bonus, and partly because she’d been with us for four or five years and felt like family.

Sarah looked at the box but didn’t reach for it.

The silence stretched for a moment. “Please, don’t feel obligated,” I added. “It’s just a little something extra. It won’t be deducted from your salary.”

She looked up. “Miss Vance, this is my job. I haven’t done anything to deserve a gift. You don’t need to give me anything; I will do my job well regardless.”

The sound of our voices must have reached the bedroom. Christopher wheeled himself to the doorway. I instinctively moved to help him, but before his wheelchair had even stopped, Sarah was already there, her hand on the handle.

My outstretched hand hovered in the air for a second before I pulled it back. I told myself she was just a no-nonsense, efficient person.

“What’s wrong?” Christopher asked, looking up at me.

I smiled. “Nothing. I was just giving Sarah a gift I bought for her.” I held out the scarf.

He took it, glanced at it, and nodded. “Claire always has excellent taste. This will look great on you, Sarah.” He then handed the box directly to her.

This time, Sarah didn’t refuse. She accepted it naturally. “Thank you, Mr. Hayes.” She paused, then nodded at me. “And thank you, Miss Vance.”

I mumbled an acknowledgment and took my laundry to the bedroom, making a mental note of the exchange. The gift had ended up in her hands, but who it came from clearly mattered.

“Claire, you’re in for a treat tonight. Sarah is an amazing cook,” Christopher said from his wheelchair, holding my hand. From the open door, I could faintly hear the clatter of pots and pans.

“Did you tell her I don’t eat cilantro?” I reminded him.

“Of course. You think I’d forget something like that?” he said, tapping the tip of my nose with a familiar, playful gesture. His easy manner made me smile, and I pushed the earlier flicker of annoyance aside.

A moment later, the door clicked open. “Sir, dinner is ready,” Sarah announced as she walked in.

I had just gotten out of the shower. The bathroom was still steamy, and my hair was dripping as I was about to change. She had entered without knocking. I quickly clutched my towel tighter, my expression hardening. “Why didn’t you knock?”

It had always just been me, Christopher, and Mrs. Davis in the house. Mrs. Davis was meticulous about etiquette; she would knock even if she was just bringing a glass of water. I’d gotten into the habit of not locking my door at home.

Sarah looked taken aback for a second, a hint of embarrassment on her face. “We’re all women. It’s not a big deal.”

A retort died on my lips. I was still undressed. I took a deep breath. “Could you both please leave?”

Sensing my mood, Christopher quickly intervened. “Sarah didn’t mean anything by it. We’ll wait for you outside.” He gestured for her to push his wheelchair out.

The door closed, and I heard the sound of the wheels fading down the hallway.

I took another deep breath, grabbed my loungewear from the chair, and quickly dried my hair and got dressed. My reflection in the mirror was still tense. It wasn’t just about the small incident; it was the feeling of my boundaries being so easily crossed.