Yesterday's Loved

“"I can't stay still, walking back and forth. If only someone was with me now, I know their eyes would hurt watching me. I've been waiting for him since earlier, but he took so long to come. Feeling tired, I sat on the couch, but I stood up immediately as the front door opened, and he walked in. He's finally home. "Where have you been?" I asked my husband as he arrived late. Yes, I've been waiting for him. It's already 2:03 in the morning, and he just decided to come home now. Nothing new in his actions. I even get home earlier than him – from work, while he comes from his school. No emotion showed on his face, and he just continued walking without responding to me. "Lazel Hyrroz," I sternly uttered his name. I followed him into his room. He unbuttoned his uniform after casually dropping his backpack on the bed. "I'm tired. Don't bother me now," he said coldly, avoiding eye contact. "That's why I'm asking why you're only coming home now and where you've been at this hour," I questioned him firmly. He took off his white polo, leaving only his undershirt. "You know? You have a lot of roles in my life," he sarcastically remarked, facing me. His face remained emotionless, and the way he looked at me seemed indifferent. "You're not just a mother, sister, or brother. Now, your role is a strict father who waited for his son who didn't come home last night but decided to show up now," he added, grinning. "You've grown up, Lazel Hyrroz. Even if you're no longer under your parents' care, remember that there's still someone who cares about you," I stated. "You? Do you care about me? I'm just your husband on paper, and I never asked you to worry about me. I told you from the beginning not to interfere, and I'll do the same to you," he said sternly. That's just how he is – hard-hearted and indifferent to me or my feelings. "Lazel Hyrroz..." "If you have nothing else to say, leave, Lola," he insultingly called me Lola this time. I sighed, acknowledging his disrespectful behavior. I turned away as he removed his white undershirt. "You've seen my body. So, why are you still avoiding me? I know you liked what we did last night, didn't you? You took advantage of me while I was drunk," he insinuated, and those words felt like a slap. My chest tightened violently. "Before you sleep, take a bath or wash your body. If you haven't eaten, just heat the food that I cooked earlier," I said, hearing his mocking laugh and the creaking of the bed as a sign that he sat down. "Yes, Manang," he said mockingly, using another insult this time. I closed his room door gently, pausing for a moment before leaning against it. Tears threatened to spill, weighing heavily on my chest. Is this the reason he came home so late? Because in over a year, something happened between us only once? We were both drunk, and I can't remember anything about that night. I questioned myself. How long will we be like this, Lazel Hyrroz? *** When I wake up every morning, my uniform is neatly prepared on the sofa bed, and my black shoes are polished. In the kitchen, there's food ready, with a sticky note on the fridge. I took it and read the neat handwriting. Despite that, I still dislike it. "Don't forget to eat your breakfast before you go to school, Lazel Hyrroz." -Calysta After reading it, I crumpled the paper and threw it in the trash bin. I opened the fridge, grabbed a cold water bottle, and finished its contents. I glanced at the prepared breakfast on the table, but as usual, I left it untouched. I entered the university with an empty stomach, but it's okay; Hanemira usually shares her food with me. That's where I usually have my breakfast. "You didn't have breakfast again, huh?" I just smiled at her question and slowly smiled. Simultaneously, she held my hand, handing me a spoon. She also had my lunch box. "I still cooked it." Her cooking wasn't the best, but I appreciated it because she's the girl I like. *** When I got home, I expected to find her in the living room, busy with her laptop, drinking coffee. "You didn't eat your breakfast again. You didn't even touch them," she greeted me. I raised the corner of my lips. I've memorized those words since she always says them to me. "Who told you to cook my breakfast?" I asked, hearing her sigh again. Honestly, I don't feel anything for her. I don't like her, and I will never love a woman ten years older than me. We only got married because she's wealthier than my family, and our company needed her. That's the only reason I endure living in this cramped house. That's what I feel. I ignored her and went upstairs, but before that, I stopped to ask her about this. "For you, what is love?" She furrowed her brows, confused by my question. "Why are you asking me that?" she asked back. "I just want to know your opinion. What does love mean to you?" I asked, genuinely interested in her perspective on love. "Love ruins a person's life." I raised an eyebrow at her statement. How does it r”