The Return of Her First Love Chapter 2

I stared at Michelle coldly, took a deep breath, and forced down the storm brewing behind my eyes.

"You do your thing, I'll do mine. What's the problem?"

We'd been married for three years, and she'd never allowed me any say in her life. Especially after Rick came back—she'd been coming home later and later each night. Every time I texted her out of concern, she'd not only ignore me but later tear into me for being too controlling, saying I was suffocating her.

"Do you even realize today is our wedding anniversary? You ditched me to go drinking by yourself—were you trying to embarrass me on purpose?" Michelle's beautiful eyes blazed at me, a torrent of accusations raining down. "Rick hardly ever comes back. He just gave me a little gift. Are you really going to make a big deal out of nothing?"

I was making a big deal out of nothing?

A wave of bitterness washed over me.

So she did know it was our anniversary. I'd spent weeks preparing a gift and booked a fancy restaurant. But the second she heard Rick was back in town, she'd turned our romantic dinner into a group hangout without a second thought. And all night, she'd been making eyes at him across the table.

She hadn't considered my feelings for a second. And now she had the nerve to grill me?

"Come home. Stop hanging out with those deadbeat friends of yours."

Without waiting for my response, Michelle grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the car. The alcohol was hitting me hard—my head was spinning, and I could barely put up a fight as she pulled me along.

But just as we stepped outside, her phone rang. She picked up, and whoever was on the other end made her face go tight with worry.

"Rick passed out? I told you guys he has a bad stomach—did you force him to drink?! I'm on my way, just wait for me!"

She hung up and immediately let go of my arm. "Rick's not feeling well. I need to take him to the hospital. You can grab a cab home yourself."

I glanced at the empty street and said nothing.

She huffed in irritation. "Can you stop going mute every time I ask you to do something? I really can't stand it when you act like that."

I pressed my fingers against my throbbing temples, grabbed my jacket, and started walking slowly toward the end of the street. I didn't spare her a single glance.

"You'd better be home when I get back—or else we're getting a divorce!"

Michelle hurled that threat at me, then jumped into her car and sped off without a moment's hesitation.

I walked alone through the cold night. It was freezing out, but my heart felt even colder. Once again, Michelle had chosen Rick over me.

By the time I got home, I was completely drained. I collapsed onto the bed and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

The next morning, I was jolted awake by Michelle's voice.

"It's so late—why aren't you up making breakfast?"

She looked like she'd just walked in—still wearing last night's clothes, reeking of alcohol. She stood by the bed, her eyes full of displeasure.

I rubbed my brow and gave her a tired, dismissive reply. "I drank too much last night. My head's killing me. Just grab something yourself."

Michelle's brows shot up in obvious annoyance.

She was an incredibly picky eater—most regular breakfast options were a no-go for her, which had wrecked her stomach over the years. After we got together, I'd put in so much effort learning how to cook all kinds of nutritious meals, tailoring everything to her taste. That was the only way she'd finally started eating on a regular schedule.

But apparently, she'd come to see all that effort as her due.

She never thanked me sweetly when I set a carefully prepared breakfast in front of her. But if I ever slipped up even once? You'd better believe she'd let me hear about it.