“But the pasta looks appetizing.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“I used the rosemary from the garden.”

“Good,” he said.

He walked closer, standing just behind my shoulder.

I could smell his expensive cologne mixed with the garlic in the air.

He placed a cold hand on the back of my neck.

His thumb pressed lightly against my pulse point.

“A normal recipe for a normal blog,” he whispered.

“That is what we agreed on, isn’t it, Clara?”

“Yes, Julian.”

“No more dramatic posts about leaving.”

“No more,” I said.

He smiled, his lips thin and dry.

He tapped a blue button on his tablet screen.

“There. It is live.”

My signature recipe was out in the world.

I felt a brief, fragile sense of relief.

Maybe this was the start of something quiet.

Maybe he would let his guard down if I kept playing the perfect wife.

Julian walked to the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of water.

“I have to run to the office in town,” he said.

“The security system is set to away mode.”

“I will be here,” I said.

“I know you will,” he replied.

He locked the front door from his phone as he walked out.

The heavy deadbolts clicked into place with a loud metallic thud.

I sat at the island, staring at the published blog post.

The comments section was empty.

Outside, the rain grew heavier, blurring the suburban street.

I took a deep breath.

I closed my eyes and let the silence of the empty house wash over me.

For the first time in days, I was alone.

I opened my laptop again to check the traffic.

A few views were trickling in from my regular subscribers.

Then, the screen flickered.

A notification popped up in the corner.

A user named *baking_shadows* had left a comment on the new post.