The real issue was that whenever she had to talk to him, Niamh just felt… unsettled. A sudden thought struck Jonathan: Had he been treating Niamh the same way these past three years? Was he becoming more impatient, more dismissive, with every passing day?
A dull ache crept back into his temples, ruining the clarity he’d just regained.
The bedroom was dead silent.
The tension between them only grew, thickening the air until it was almost unbearable.
Jonathan could tell–Niamh wanted nothing more than to escape this room. She didn’t say a word, but her entire presence radiated discomfort, from the way she sat to the way she avoided his gaze.
Was it him? Had he gotten less attractive? Lost whatever charm he once had? Why had her attitude shifted so dramatically?
He remembered a time when Niamh’s world revolved around him. Now, she seemed desperate to put as much distance between them as possible.
“Could you… get me a glass of water?” Jonathan asked, breaking the silence.
He remembered how, whenever he was sick, Niamh would always bring him a perfectly warmed glass of water and a plate of fresh fruit, all without him ever having to ask.
He watched as Niamh stood up and filled a glass from the water cooler before handing it to him. It wasn’t the carefully boiled and cooled water he was used to, but it was warm enough.
The gentle heat seeped through the glass and into his fingers, spreading warmth all the way to his core. He hadn’t even taken a sip, but he already felt comforted.
Niamh watched as Jonathan drank from the glass she’d handed him. It was just a plain glass of water–nothing special, just hot and cold mixed together at the dispenser. Yet he sipped it as if it were a rare vintage, savoring every drop.
If she remembered correctly, they’d bought that water cooler right after their wedding. And unless Jonathan had actually changed the filters this year, who even
knew what was in this water…
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She picked up a bottle of mineral water for herself and drank in silence.
She’d been about to ask Jonathan if he was hungry, maybe offer to order takeout–but before she could speak, her own stomach rumbled loudly.
“I haven’t eaten all morning either. What do you feel like? I’ll order something,” she said, grabbing her phone.
“No need… I’ll cook,” Jonathan replied, already sliding out of bed.
“You’ll cook?” Niamh stared at him, stunned. From the looks of him, he could barely stand–he seemed like he might collapse at any moment. Surely he should be
resting, not messing around in the kitchen.
But Jonathan looked dead serious. That handsome, determined face had never
seemed more sincere.
She knew now that Jonathan could cook–she hadn’t always. It wasn’t until that day at the grocery store, when she’d bumped into him and Marina, that she realized the pampered golden boy actually knew his way around a kitchen. Turns out he’d cooked plenty of meals for his first love.
Jonathan met her gaze, reading the storm of emotions in her eyes.
“Just for once… I want you to try something I’ve made,” he said quietly.
“For once?” Niamh let out a short, bitter laugh. “You’re using that word wrong. We’ve been married three years–not once have I tasted your cooking.”
“Even if you cook for me, I’m not going back,” she said, her voice flat, her words sharp as a knife.
Jonathan’s eager hope was instantly doused, but he refused to back down.
“I’m not doing this to get anything from you,” he said softly. “I just want to make you a meal when you’re hungry. That’s all.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked into the kitchen.
Niamh watched him go, noticing how his tall frame wavered with each step, barely managing to stay upright.
How many times over the years had she dragged herself into the kitchen while sick, just to cook for him? And not once had Jonathan ever noticed.
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Niamh sat alone at the dining table.
