The first time it happened, it seemed trivial. My mother-in-law, Delphina, laughed cruelly at her friend Rosabel for not knowing paprika came from peppers. I stayed quiet, embarrassed, since I hadn’t known either. Later, Delphina scolded me: “You embarrass Darian when you don’t know things.” Her words cut deep.

Trying to improve, I spent hours at the library learning about spices. On impulse, I stopped by Darian’s office to surprise him. The receptionist said he’d left early with someone named Keira. That night, he came home distant, ignoring the paprika chicken I’d made. Days later, his phone lit up with a text: I miss you already. Can’t wait for tomorrow  —Keira.

I confronted him. He admitted the affair, claiming Keira “understood” him and that he felt “trapped” with me and his mother. Delphina, eavesdropping, insisted I stay to protect his reputation. That was the moment I knew — I wasn’t a partner, just a prop. I left, moving in with my mother. Cooking classes reignited my joy, and soon I was helping Orson, a café owner, build his menu.

My paprika chicken became a bestseller. When Darian later begged me back, I refused. What began as humiliation over a spice revealed the truth — and gave me freedom, strength, and a new beginning.