Julian and I had been together for over five years.
That day, I came home with the freshly printed wedding invitations, planning to surprise him.
The kitchen glowed with warm light, and he was laughing with the new housekeeper.
She scooped some soup from his bowl, tasted it, then lightly punched his chest.
“You’re such a liar, it’s not salty at all.”
My fingers tightened, crushing the wedding invitations into a ball. I walked straight to the trash can.
“Looks like my fiancé is getting a new girlfriend.”
Seraphina had only started this month. She was Mrs. Jenkins’ cousin.
A few days earlier, Julian had gone skiing and accidentally broke his leg.
The doctor ordered him to rest at home for two months.
Coincidentally, Mrs. Jenkins had an urgent family matter back home and left in a hurry, so her cousin had to step in temporarily.
I was away on a business trip when Seraphina moved in.
Since Julian couldn’t travel, I, as VP, took over supervising the company’s out-of-state projects.
During that time, he mentioned her several times on SnapChat:
“Seraphina is really efficient, and her cooking is great.”
I assumed she was around Mrs. Jenkins’ age, so I naturally categorized her as a “dependable, older woman.”
But when I got home, the person who opened the door was only a few years older than us: her hair was neatly tied back, her apron was spotless, and her expression was calm.
I set my bag down, smiling.
“Seraphina, I specifically picked out this silk scarf at the mall. Thank you for taking care of Julian these past weeks.”
I pulled the gift box from my bag.
I had originally bought it for Mrs. Jenkins.
I always brought her a small gift when I returned from a business trip.
Firstly, it was a reward, and secondly, she’d been with us for four or five years, and we considered her family.
Seraphina looked at the gift box, but her hand didn’t reach out.
The atmosphere paused. I added:
“Please don’t feel obligated, Seraphina. This is just a little extra something, not part of your salary.”
She looked up.
“Ms. Caldwell, this is my job. You don’t need to give me gifts. I’ll do what I’m supposed to do.”
Our voices startled Julian in the bedroom.
He came out in his wheelchair and rolled to the doorway.
I instinctively moved to push him, but before he even stopped, Seraphina had already grabbed the handles.
My outstretched hand hovered, then I pulled it back, assuming she was just quick and efficient.
“What’s wrong?”
Julian looked up at me.
I smiled.
“Nothing, I just wanted to give Seraphina the gift I bought at the mall.”
Then I handed him the scarf.
He looked at it in his hand, nodding.
“Jocelyn’s taste is always excellent. This scarf really suits Seraphina.”
As he spoke, he directly handed the gift box to Seraphina.
This time, Seraphina didn’t refuse like before. She took it naturally.
“Thank you, Mr. Caldwell…”
She paused, then nodded to me.
“And thank you, Ms. Caldwell.”
I hummed in response, carried my change of clothes back to the bedroom, and made a mental note of it.
The gift eventually reached her, but who handed it over made a different kind of statement to some people.
“Jocelyn, you’re in for a treat today. Seraphina’s cooking is amazing, her food is delicious.”
In the bedroom, Julian sat in his wheelchair, chatting with me. I could vaguely hear the clanging of pots and pans from the kitchen.
“So, did you tell her I don’t eat cilantro?”
I reminded him.
“Of course! How could I forget something so small?”
He said, then playfully tapped my nose, his tone as natural as ever.
His gesture made me laugh, and I pushed aside the earlier unpleasantness.
A little while later, the door clicked open.
“Sir, dinner’s ready.”
Seraphina’s voice followed her in.
I had just showered, and the bathroom steam hadn’t fully dissipated.
My hair was dripping wet, and I was about to change into clean clothes.
She walked in without knocking. I quickly pulled my bath towel tighter, my face immediately darkening.
“Why didn’t you knock?”
Before, it was just Julian, Mrs. Jenkins, and me at home.
Mrs. Jenkins was always respectful; she’d knock twice even when bringing a glass of water. Because of that, I’d gotten used to not locking my door at home.
Seraphina froze for a moment, looking a bit awkward.
“We’re all women, it’s no big deal.”
A lump formed in my throat, but considering I wasn’t fully dressed, I forced myself to suppress my anger.
“Please wait outside.”
Seeing my expression, Julian quickly tried to smooth things over.
“Seraphina didn’t mean it. We’ll wait for you outside.”
With that, he gestured for Seraphina to push his wheelchair out.
The door closed, and I heard the receding sound of wheels in the hallway.
I took a deep breath, grabbed my prepped loungewear from the chair, quickly dried my hair, and got dressed.
In the mirror, my expression was still tense.
It wasn’t about such a small incident, but the feeling of boundaries being so easily crossed.
When I reached the living room, Julian had already started eating.
Seraphina was also sitting at the dining table, head bowed, eating.
The food on the table was still steaming, but my spot was empty. My fork and knife weren’t even set.
“When Mrs. Jenkins handed over, didn’t she tell you not to sit at the table without permission when eating at an employer’s house?”
I asked, suppressing my displeasure.
It wasn’t that I was being unreasonable.
I had invited Mrs. Jenkins to join us before, but she always insisted on following protocol, saying it was a professional boundary not to cross.
Seraphina, however, was nonchalant.
“I’ve been eating like this the whole time. Mr. Caldwell allowed it.”
Julian interjected.
“Yeah, it’s no big deal. Jocelyn, come sit down and eat.”
I didn’t move, standing there, watching them both.
In the silence, the sound of forks clinking against bowls was jarring.
Julian sensed my mood was off. He wheeled over, looking up at me.
“Jocelyn, don’t be mad. Come sit and eat.”
“Tell her to get up.”
I stated.
“Jocelyn…” He tried to argue.
“Tell her to get up.”
I left no room for compromise.
After a moment of stalemate, he finally lowered his head.
“Seraphina, could you please eat in the kitchen?”
Seraphina’s face tightened. She picked up her bowl, the chair scraping a small mark on the floor.
She seemed accustomed to her way of interacting with Julian, and my return had become the disruption.
The emotion in her eyes flashed, then she suppressed it, preparing to stand up.
“Wait.”
I called out to her, then turned to Julian.
“Didn’t you tell her I don’t eat cilantro?”
He finally reacted, looking down to see cilantro sprinkled on almost every dish.
“This…”
He was speechless.
“Ms. Caldwell, this isn’t Mr. Caldwell’s fault.”
Seraphina quickly spoke up.
“I forgot when I was cooking and just put it in automatically.”
“Then remake it.”
My tone was flat.
“Jocelyn, let it go. Just eat it today, Seraphina will remember next time.”
Julian tried to mediate.
I didn’t say anything else. I walked to the table, picked up the closest dish, and dumped it directly into the trash can.
The sound of the liquid hitting the bottom was clear.
“Then no one eats.”
Julian’s brow furrowed.
“Jocelyn, you—”
The words died on his lips, as it was indeed Seraphina’s oversight.
I didn’t look at either of them. I grabbed my car keys and small bag from the entryway, changed my shoes, and left.
I didn’t go back after dinner. Instead, I stayed at my small apartment near the office for a few days.
I’d bought this place specifically for project crunch times; the furniture was simple, and it was a five-minute walk from the office, perfect for quick breaks.
These past few days, Julian kept messaging me, asking when I’d finish work, if I’d eaten, and when I’d be home.
Knowing him, he usually would have driven and parked outside by now.
But with his leg injury, he couldn’t leave the house freely, so he resorted to relentless messaging on his phone.
I didn’t block him, nor did I reply much, occasionally just a “busy.”
Around the sixth day, he sent me a longer message, asking me to come back for the weekend to look at wedding venues together.
He said he’d contacted several companies, clarified their availability, budgets, and venue effects, and hoped I’d pick one I liked.
His message was sincere. I didn’t want to prolong the awkwardness, so I took the olive branch and went back.
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