If I had been a bit tougher during the days when I reconnected with Gu Fan, would the outcome have been different?
A slight stinging pain pulsed at my temples, and the heat of my breaths was noticeable.
I curled up in my blanket, wrapping myself into a ball, leaving only my still-damp cat ears poking out.
Everything now is my own doing. If Gu Fan hadn’t taken the initiative to invite me, I would never have stepped out of this house.
Since the day of graduation, I’ve subtly been turned into a useless person by Gu Fan.
I don’t know if that’s good or bad. Being able to avoid interacting with the outside world or others, focusing entirely on intimate moments with Gu Fan, does make me feel incredibly relaxed and content.
But it’s also cost me my ability to communicate.
The most vivid memory is from a time I was preparing dinner for Gu Fan, and we ran out of soy sauce.
I picked up the soy sauce bottle, desperately trying to pour out even a drop to add flavor to the unfinished dish. But as if the heavens were mocking me, not a single drop came out.
I tasted the dish and found it hopelessly bland. Just adding salt wouldn’t cut it either.
If I were eating alone, it wouldn’t matter. With my abnormally developed cat tongue, I don’t care for any flavors, so I can tolerate just about anything.
Clear broth noodles were practically my staple meal in middle school. I always got by with haphazard meals until I met Gu Fan, who helped me discover what real food could be.
It’s exactly because my taste buds have gradually been refined for the better that I can no longer stomach this flavorless dish.
Gu Fan is often away from home, and my taste has reverted to its old state—everything bland and unremarkable—thanks to the makeshift meals I cobble together. But when I eat with Gu Fan, I still pretend it’s “delicious.”
I’m well aware of how terrible my cooking is, so bad that I rely heavily on soy sauce to make it somewhat palatable.
I used to avoid adding soy sauce. Even Gu Fan, after enduring my flavorless or overly seasoned dishes a couple of times, finally showed his true feelings one night when he came home exhausted from working late.
Of course, he didn’t know I was watching. I was hiding in a corner of the living room, curled up like a cat, spying on him.
My blood-red eyes were fixed on him, unwavering, taking in his furrowed brows, the downward curl of his lips, and the hesitant hand gripping his chopsticks.
…
I saw everything.
I also saw Gu Fan glance around, even peeking down the hallway. When he noticed our bedroom door was closed, he visibly relaxed, a look of relief spreading across his chiseled face.
And so, under the watchful gaze of a black-haired cat-girl, the husband who always seemed gentle and refined in her eyes took the noodle soup she’d lovingly prepared and dumped it into the trash…
I can’t quite recall my mental state at that moment, only vaguely remembering an overwhelming urge to vomit.
It felt like my heart, liver, lungs—every organ—had been shattered by the disgusting scene I’d just witnessed, and the only way to expel them was through throwing up.
If I let those feelings fester inside me, they might swell with revulsion until my entire being exploded.
But I was even more terrified of Gu Fan finding out.
If his carefully crafted facade of a perfect husband was exposed by me, would he get so furious that he’d divorce me?
Right now, I truly can’t handle another upheaval.
In my eyes, divorce has long become a grim reaper’s scythe, ready to claim my life.
I’d give anything to avoid that outcome.
So, no matter how sickened I was, I could only bite my lip hard, gripping my tail, which was trembling with the urge to slam against the floor in rage.
The metallic taste of blood spread in my mouth, intensifying my desire to vomit.
I desperately curled myself into a ball, tucking in my cat ears, which quivered from the overwhelming emotions, and squeezed myself into the shadowy corner of the living room.
I heard Gu Fan’s relieved exhale, the clink of dishes, and the sound of something being poured into the sink—likely the bone broth I’d painstakingly made for him.
And then, I heard Gu Fan unlock his phone and play a voice message from a woman. Her flirtatious tone, so sickening it made me want to gag, seemed to please him.
Because… I heard Gu Fan laugh.
That laugh was genuine, free of any pretense, unlike the distracted, half-hearted smiles he gives me, as if he’s always thinking of something—or someone—else.
I don’t clearly remember what happened next. Gu Fan seemed to type a reply to that woman I didn’t know, then went to take a shower. I took the chance while he was in the bathroom to slip back into our bedroom.
At night, even without the lights on, I could clearly see the decorations in the bedroom. When we got married, we wanted to imprint our love on every corner of this space. Now, it feels somewhat ironic.
Lying on the bed, I stared at the wedding photo hanging on the wall, laughing silently, but tears streamed uncontrollably from the corners of my eyes.
The tears kept flowing and flowing… until Gu Fan gently pushed open the door and entered the room. Hearing the soft sobs from my sniffling, he hurried over to me.
“…What’s wrong? Is something upsetting you?”
I didn’t speak. Instead, I unbuttoned my pajamas and gave the bad man—who leaned down, seducing me with his captivating amber eyes—a deep, passionate kiss.
It’s all your fault… you’re too perfect… making it impossible for me to accept that deep down, you actually resent me…
When my fingers gripped Gu Fan’s back, I held on tightly, not just out of physical instinct but because my heart ached so much, as if an invisible hand of God was cruelly squeezing it.
In my perception, my heartbeat had stopped. In a daze, I let my emotions sink to the bottom of my heart, becoming a scar that would never fully heal.
In short, after that day, I cooked far less often. And when I did, I made sure to use soy sauce that Gu Fan could tolerate, ensuring he wouldn’t show that heart-wrenching expression again.
Though… I don’t know if, behind my back, he still laughs while complaining to other women about how awful my cooking is.
Since I didn’t cook often, I didn’t pay much attention to whether we were running low on seasonings. That’s why I was caught off guard when I ran out of soy sauce.
Gu Fan had already said he’d be home for dinner tonight… and now, with less than half an hour until he got off work, it was too late to order takeout. I had to go to the store myself to buy some.
The logic was clear in my head, but I faltered at the crucial execution stage.
Ugh… so gross…
Clumsily slipping on sneakers I hadn’t worn in nearly a month, my body inexplicably started trembling.
Just as I was about to leave, I realized I forgot my keys and hurriedly ran back to grab them.
When I was about to lock the door, I instinctively checked my pockets and felt no phone. I dashed back to the kitchen, grabbed my phone from beside the flour bag, and cursed myself for being such a careless, lousy wife.
After locking the door, I took the elevator. Through the glossy, mirror-like elevator door, I saw my reflection—I was still wearing a low-cut bear apron… with only a thin undershirt beneath, barely concealing my figure.
I’d gotten so used to staying at home, dressing casually and loosely. It was also a way to occasionally tempt Gu Fan, letting him get handsy with me.
But now I was going out… this was completely inappropriate…
This time, I didn’t hesitate. I decisively let my forehead smack against the elevator door.
Thud.
The pain brought tears to my eyes. I covered them with my arm to hide the tears, rushed to the store, stammered a request for the cashier to grab a bottle of soy sauce, and……hurried to leave, only to realize I forgot to pay.
Being this useless, I deserve to be despised by Gu Fan.