CHAPTER 34: A CHOKING MEAL

Sitting on the dining table, watching his wife serve his food, David couldn’t seem to focus on her. He was lost in thought.

His wife was up to something. He could tell. He could feel it. But he couldn’t wrap his fingers around it. He left home last night, amidst their argument and she didn’t call to check on him.

Anita didn’t like fights, he knew that. But whenever they fought, she didn’t stop calling to boss him around, to keep tags on him, and his work.

To David, Anita checking on him and asking about his day, his work, and telling him to not stress himself, was her ’bossing him around and keeping tags on him’. So why did he care about her not calling for the past week? Shouldn’t he be happy?

She rarely went to his office, but for a week and few days, after that time he dismissed her pregnancy prank, she’d never set foot in his office again.

She wasn’t even talking about their coming anniversary.

And now, this food she was serving him, the aroma, the dressing, it didn’t look like hers.

Did she allow someone else cook his meal? David remembered her always saying, "A meal made with love keeps the heart safe."

It was one of those things she said often, like a family rule etched into the walls of their home. She would hum while cooking, taste everything twice, and make sure it was perfect for his taste. She’d even scold him if he dared to snack before dinner.

But tonight, there was no humming. No familiar scent wafting from the kitchen. Just silence and strangers’ food on his plate.

David watched Anita as she gracefully served his meal. The aroma of glazed pears mingled with the richness of wine and herbs, filling the air with a scent that made his stomach growl with hunger and suspicion.

Two serving spoons of wild rice to the side of his white plate, thick and rich mushroom sauce on top, beef sauce to the side, creamy salad, and finally, a perfectly sliced portion of roasted duck, its skin crisp and glistening under the warm light.

David stared at it all, watching the steam curl up like a slow, taunting dance. It was beautiful. Too beautiful.

Anita always said the plate should "smile back" at him, and this one did. But it terrified him.

"Would you like wine with it?" she asked gently, already reaching for the dark bottle resting in the center of the table.

"No," David said, his voice firmer than he expected. "Water’s fine."

Anita didn’t press. She poured him a glass of water, set it down, and returned to her seat like everything was normal.

But nothing was. David could feel it. Yet, the way she acted as if things were normal made his scalp tingle with dread.

David picked up his fork and knife, slicing into the duck. It cut easily, practically melting under the blade. The first bite burst with flavors he couldn’t deny –sweet, savory, perfectly seasoned. It was, objectively, one of the best meals he’d ever had.

He froze.

This was indeed not his wife’s cooking.

His head snapped up, only to see she didn’t serve herself. She was playing with the edge of her napkin, folding and unfolding it quietly.

Something inside him stirred uneasily.

He looked at her and said, "You didn’t cook this."

She offered a smile. "I thought trying new things would help."

"But you don’t trust other people with my food," he replied slowly, watching her carefully, heart skipping a beat. "You’ve never trusted anyone."

Then, he glanced down at her empty plate. "You’re not eating?"

She looked up and offered a small smile. "Sapphire Bistro sent an email. They’re sending over an apology meal," she said softly, folding the napkin again with delicate precision. "They messed up my lunch. And I’m surprised they’re sending a full course meal tonight."

David blinked. Her voice was calm, almost sweet. But the words didn’t match the air between them. They didn’t explain why she hadn’t touched her food. Or why she had allowed strangers into their kitchen when she had always insisted: only love makes food safe.

"You didn’t answer me," he said, his heart drumming now, mind racing with frightening thoughts. "Why aren’t you eating this? You let someone else cook my meal and you aren’t eating it?"

"I can’t eat this and still have an appetite for what’s coming," she said with a light laugh, though it didn’t touch her eyes.

David stared at her, uncertain whether it was literal or figurative. The fork in his hand felt heavier. He set it down beside his untouched salad.

"What’s coming?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She shook her head, "They didn’t say." Her gaze dropped to his plate. "You’re not eating?" before he could speak, she frowned. "Are you thinking I poisoned you, David?"

David swallowed hard, ashamed that such thoughts actually crossed his mind. Before he could utter a word, she rose from her seat, leaned over the table, picked up his fork and tasted everything on the table with a slow, deliberate grace.

A piece of roasted duck. A spoonful of wild rice. A dip of sauce. Even a bite of the creamy salad.

All of it—tasted without hesitation, without fear.

She chewed, swallowed, and looked him dead in the eye. "Happy?"

"I didn’t —" he began but couldn’t find words. He silently picked up his cutlery and resumed eating.

Silence stretched between them like a noose. The ticking of the wall clock sounded louder than usual.

Anita didn’t hack on what he just did— suspecting her. Not now. It would be useful later.

David felt guilty having such thoughts about his wife. She was fearsome, yes. But she loved him and he shouldn’t be so paranoid, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Anita knew he was cheating with Linda, or maybe she’d found out he froze her account. Or maybe he was thinking too much.

He continued eating his food in silence but he couldn’t savor the taste.

Each bite felt mechanical, dulling on his tongue. The duck was tender, the rice perfectly cooked, the sauce rich and velvety. But none of it reached him. He couldn’t shake the thoughts clouding his mind.

He glanced up again.

Anita was sipping water, her eyes unfocused, like she was somewhere far away.

"You’re really not eating?" he asked quietly, hoping his voice sounded more normal than he felt.

She smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes. "I said I’m waiting for my meal, David." And she added, "Why are you acting strange?"

A subtle chill ran through him. "Am I?" He blinked. Was it so obvious?

Why did everything feel like a countdown?

"Did something else happen today?" he ventured carefully.

Anita’s fingers drummed once on the table, then stopped. She looked at him for a moment too long. "You tell me, David. Anything you think happened today?"

That knot in his stomach twisted.

There it was, an opening laced with threat.

He lowered his eyes to his plate and stabbed at a piece of duck.

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. "You know what I think is funny?" she said suddenly, tone casual, almost amused. "You didn’t ask what the househelp’s names were. Or where I found them. Or why they disappeared right after cooking."

David froze.

He looked up, fork halfway to his mouth.

Anita’s smile widened, just slightly. "I suppose trust is a fragile thing. You didn’t even realize it was already broken."

And just like that, the meal turned colder than the room.

David slowly lowered his fork.

And for the first time that night, he was no longer hungry.