My coldhearted ex demands a remarriage - Chapter 121

Chapter 121:

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Carrie’s emotions surged—a tumultuous mix of the past and present. Had these words come sooner, she might have plunged into the depths of their fractured marriage without a second thought. But that time had passed. She had moved on, her heart guarded and her resolve firm. Turning back was not an option she could entertain.

She lowered her head, her voice a gentle whisper. “It’s okay. It’s all behind us now. I forgive you.”

The past was immutable, and dwelling on it would not reverse the currents of time. His apology now served as a poignant closure to what they once shared. A farewell deserved a touch of dignity. Seeing him step back, she felt no urge to harbor any resentment.

As she spoke, she noticed Kristopher’s hand still resting on her foot and instinctively withdrew it.

Kristopher, sensing the finality, accepted her subtle rejection. He believed that with his apology and her forgiveness, they had found closure. Feeling a wave of relief, he rose and rolled up his sleeves with ease. “I’ll go make some spaghetti. You just take it easy.”

Before Carrie could utter a word in response, Kristopher had already made his way to the kitchen, busying himself with the task of cleaning a pot and setting water to boil once again.

Carrie’s lips formed a pout as she muttered to herself skeptically, “Can he actually cook?” For Carrie, it was difficult to reconcile the image of Kristopher, the assertive businessman, with the domestic chore of cooking.

From the kitchen, Kristopher cast a brief glance her way before continuing his cleanup. He washed the pot thoroughly, set the water boiling, and began preparing the spaghetti with a deftness that belied any notion of him being a novice in the kitchen.

In Carrie’s conventional view, a man cooking was somehow a lessening of his masculinity. Yet Kristopher was dismantling that stereotype effortlessly. With his shirt collar undone just enough to reveal the contours of his chest muscles, and his forearms smooth yet defined, veins prominently tracing down to his skilled hands, he moved about handling the kitchenware.

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There was an undeniable allure to his actions, a sensuality that captivated. Watching him maneuver around the kitchen was unexpectedly gratifying for Carrie, the sight a visual feast that seemed to nourish the soul itself.

Before long, Kristopher was setting down two steaming plates of spaghetti on the dining table. “What are you still sitting there for? Go wash your hands and let’s eat,” he called out, breaking her reverie.

“Oh.” Carrie’s thoughts abruptly shattered as she found herself walking toward the kitchen to wash her hands. It was a scene ripped straight from a normal married life, tinged with the bittersweet realization of their impending divorce.

Upon returning from the kitchen, Carrie confronted the intimacy of the small square table, which left little space for emotional distance. With a contemplative pause, she chose the chair directly across from Kristopher, sealing the proximity between them.

The dinner plates bore spaghetti arranged with meticulous care, each topped with a perfectly cooked egg and generously drizzled with sauce. Carrie’s plate, however, featured an extra dollop of her favorite sauce—a silent acknowledgment from Kristopher of her preferences.

Outwardly, Carrie maintained a composed facade, but beneath it, her emotions churned as violently as the storm brewing outside. Her only respite was the meal before her. The spaghetti, rich and savory from the sauce, proved a welcome distraction. She devoured it quickly, driven by her hunger.

Kristopher’s eyes flickered with a subtle gleam of pride as he noted the clean plate in front of her, not a trace of sauce left. He asked, “So, can I cook?”

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