David smirked, his gaze raking her up and down.
“Because you look like a fat pig stuffed into a tablecloth. Do you really want to embarrass me in front of my colleagues?” The words landed like a slap. Emma’s throat closed, but she said nothing. Over the years, she’d grown accustomed to his teasing—his little “jokes” about her body, her cooking, her professional sacrifices. Once, David had been kind and charming. But the man she married had slowly been replaced by someone cold, contemptuous, and increasingly cruel. Emma didn’t respond. She simply returned to the table, adjusting a napkin as if she hadn’t heard him. Inside, though, something changed. His words not only stung this time—they solidified a decision that had been forming in the back of her mind for months.
David mistook her silence for submission. He laughed and poured himself a glass of whiskey.
“Keep quiet tonight, okay? Smile, serve the food, and let me do the talking.”
Emma nodded slightly. On the surface, she seemed calm and obedient. But beneath that calm, she was already planning.
When the doorbell rang, she opened the door with a warm smile.
“Welcome! Please come in.”
The guests were delighted with the table, praising the food and the welcoming atmosphere. Emma was gracious, laughing at their jokes, refilling wine glasses, and making sure everyone felt comfortable.
David, on the other hand, became increasingly loud and boastful as the night progressed. He bragged about his recent promotion, his car, and even made subtle comments about how “hard it is to keep a wife from overspending.” His colleagues laughed politely, but Emma noticed the awkward glances their wives exchanged.
By the time dessert was served, Emma’s mind was made up. That night, she wouldn’t face David with words or tears. Instead, she would let her actions speak for themselves. And when she did, she would surprise him in ways he never expected.
Emma carried the apple pie to the table, placing it carefully as the guests applauded at the aroma alone. She cut it with precision, placed the portions on the plates, and served each person with a smile. David leaned back in his chair, already on his third glass of whiskey, and smiled arrogantly.
“My wife may not look like much, but at least she knows how to cook,” he said aloud, eliciting a few forced laughs.
Emma’s cheeks burned, but she remained composed. Instead of reacting, she simply sat down, calmly cutting her slice. The conversation continued around her, but she wasn’t listening anymore. She was focused on what she had to do.
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