I gave a soft "Mm."
"The ones back home are probably just as nice."
He froze. A flicker of confusion crossed his face.
"Virginia, you don't like Valkenheim?"
"I do."
His expression relaxed.
"A few days there for a vacation would be lovely."
He went still again.
He was about to say something when his phone rang.
A video call from Vivian.
"Robert, my foot hurts so bad, I can't move…"
She was crying in that delicate, helpless way of hers, tears glistening like rain on white petals.
"What happened?"
Robert shot to his feet, his voice tight with alarm.
"I missed a step going downstairs and fell down the whole staircase…"
"I'm all alone. I'm so scared. There's no one to take me to the hospital…"
Vivian's tears fell harder.
"Don't move. Whatever you do, don't move. I'm booking a flight right now."
Robert was frantic. He turned to look at me.
"Virginia, Vivian hurt her foot. I need to go check on her."
His eyes were anxious, but there was something tentative beneath it. A nervous edge.
He was gambling.
Gambling on whether I'd make a scene.
But I was calm. I just gave a slight nod.
"Fine."
He didn't seem to expect me to agree so easily. A flicker of surprise crossed his face.
"So... the rest of the immigration paperwork, you'll handle it?"
I nodded.
"Sure."
Something shifted in his expression, a trace of guilt passing through.
"Virginia, you've always been so understanding."
He walked over and took my hand.
"Actually, this works out. I'll go ahead and get everything set up, so it won't be so rushed when you arrive."
He seemed pleased with himself for finding a reasonable excuse.
"I'll wait for your update. I'll pick you up at the airport."
I pulled my hand free. Still calm.
"Go take care of it."
I turned around and went back to packing.
His hand hung frozen in midair. It took him a moment to process.
Right then, another message from Vivian popped up on his phone.
"Robert, did you book the ticket yet? I think my foot is swelling..."
Without a second thought, he threw some clothes into a bag and rushed straight to the airport.
The next day, Vivian updated her social media.
In the photo, Robert was wearing an apron, head bent over a cutting board, chopping vegetables.
The caption read: "Home-cooked meal tonight! It feels so nice having someone cook for you."
Something slammed into my chest. Hard.
So he could cook after all.
Ten years in America, and I had been the one cooking every single meal.