The first time it happened, it seemed harmless. My mother-in-law, Delphina, was laughing at her friend Rosabel for not knowing what paprika was. I smiled, stirring the stew, cheeks burning — I didn’t know either. Later, when Rosabel left, Delphina turned to me: “You should know these things. You embarrass Darian when you don’t.” Her words stung. The next day, I went to the library and studied spices. Learning gave me back a sense of control.
But when I stopped by Darian’s office to surprise him, I learned he’d left with a woman named Keira. That night, he came home smelling of perfume that wasn’t mine. Days later, his phone buzzed with a message: “I miss you already. ❤️ —Keira.” When I confronted him, he admitted it. Delphina appeared in the doorway, ordering me to stay for his reputation. In that moment, I realized I wasn’t his partner — just a prop.
I left. My mother welcomed me, and slowly, I rebuilt. I took cooking classes, joined a café, and my paprika chicken became a bestseller. For the first time in years, I felt proud. One day, Delphina walked into the café. She froze when she saw me behind the counter, smiling and confident. She left without a word.
Months later, Darian appeared, saying Keira had left him. He wanted me back. I shook my head. “I’ve already found what I needed.” What began with humiliation over a spice ended with freedom. I found my own strength — and never looked back.