It''s a gloomy Wednesday night. The huge house owned by my ruthless wife is completely illuminated by bright lightings and fancy-lamps, only having seen them in movies when I was growing up. The house is decorated with elegant paintings, and walls are decorated with antique pieces, ones that I believe have been bought at an auction by paying top dollar. A gentle gust of wind penetrates a slit between the large glass panels, whistling throughout the house. The penthouse is eerily quiet, except the kitchen.


    The chopped garlic makes a sizzling sound, as it makes contact with the oil in the pan. It''s rich scent fills up the spacious kitchen and wafts, making its way across the house, as I add onions on top of it before sautéing it for a while until they turn brownish. My eyes seem heavy today, with dark eyebags decorating them as I''ve been overworked to hell. I woke up this morning to my wife''s insults, and I had to cook her brekkie, before packing her lunchbox. She ate her breakfast in a grumpy manner, and pointed a finger at my hair, which I guess is getting too long for her liking.


    "Get that mophead rag on top of yours cleaned today! I don''t want my husband to look like some homeless bastard I swooped off the street, you hear me?!?"


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation."Y-Yes,honeybug"


    Honeybug. I remember I gave her that sweet pet-name during the time we were dating. She, in turn started calling me Honeybee. It''s been 1 whole year of marriage that I''ve not heard that sweet petname of mine come out of her mouth. The only thing that I reminisce is her hurling abuses before downing her fried egg and toast before leaving for work this morning, stopping dead in her tracks just before he left to blow me a kiss.


    My eyes gaze down at the pot below me. I''m almost done finishing up the vegetable stew. I just have to let it boil for 10 minutes or so before it brings out the flavor from all the veggies and spices in it. I take a depressed sigh and close my eyes as I start to wonder what went wrong to be met with such a brutal period of my life. My thoughts are interrupted by a loud banging on the main front door.


    "OPEN UP!! IM HOME!!~"


    I hear Anita''s muffled shouting. The main door is quite far away from the kitchen, yet the banging of the door echoes throughout the house, jolting my eyes awake. I gulp, and put a glass cover over the pot before tip-toeing to the entrance. My hands shiver as I reach for the door.