Chapter 3

A wave of nausea washed over Ava. The air in the hallway felt thick, suffocating. She wanted to scream, to storm into the living room and confront them, to smash the container of Chloe' s condescending soup against the wall. But the rage was cold, not hot. It settled deep in her bones, a core of icy resolve. Yelling would accomplish nothing. It would only make her look like the hysterical, hormonal new mother they already thought she was.

She took a slow, deliberate breath, smoothed her clothes, and walked into the living room. She put a serene smile on her face, a mask of placid domesticity.

"Chloe, it' s so kind of you to visit," Ava said, her voice calm. "Would you like some tea?"

Liam and Chloe looked up, startled. They had the guilty expressions of children caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

"Oh, no, I can' t stay," Chloe said, quickly getting to her feet. "I just wanted to drop off the soup. You need your rest."

"Of course," Ava said, walking Chloe to the door. "Thank you again for your concern."

The moment the door closed, the fake smile dropped from Ava' s face. She turned to Liam, who was watching her with a wary expression.

"Was that necessary?" she asked, her voice quiet.

"What are you talking about? She was just being nice," Liam said defensively.

"Was she?" Ava didn' t press the issue. It was pointless. Instead, she walked over to the bassinet, where Leo was starting to stir. She picked him up and held him out to Liam.

"Here. You hold him for a while. I need to make a phone call."

Liam looked flustered, unused to being handed his own child. "But I have work to do."

"And I have to plan my return to work," Ava said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She walked out of the room, leaving him awkwardly holding the baby.

She went into the kitchen and pulled out her phone. Her fingers trembled slightly as she found the number for Chef Antoine Dubois, her old mentor from the culinary academy. He was a legend, a notoriously tough but brilliant chef who had seen her potential years ago.

"Ava? Is that you?" his gruff voice answered on the second ring. "I thought you' d dropped off the face of the earth."

"I' m back, Chef," she said, a surge of adrenaline cutting through her exhaustion. "I want to come back. Is there a place for me?"

There was a pause. "You just had a baby, didn' t you? Are you sure you' re ready?"

"I' ve never been more sure of anything in my life," she said.

That evening, Ava came down with a fever, a common postpartum infection. The doctor prescribed a strong antibiotic but warned it meant she couldn' t breastfeed. When Liam heard, he was furious.

"You can' t take that," he said, standing over her bed. "Breast milk is best for the baby. You' re being selfish."

"I have a 102-degree fever, Liam," she said, her voice weak but firm. "My health matters, too. If I get sicker, I can' t take care of anyone. He will be fine on formula."

"Chloe breastfed her sister' s baby for six months when she had trouble. She said it' s the most important thing a mother can do."

The mention of Chloe' s name was like gasoline on a fire. "I don' t care what Chloe said or did," Ava snapped, sitting up. "This is my body and my son. I am taking the medicine."

He stared at her, shocked by her defiance. They had never had a fight like this. She had always deferred to him, always sought his approval. The woman in front of him was a stranger.

"Fine," he said, his voice cold. "Do what you want." He turned and left, slamming the bedroom door.

The next day, feeling slightly better from the antibiotics, Ava was looking through her old culinary textbooks when Liam walked in. He was holding an iPad, his expression grim.

"I spoke with Chef Dubois," he said.

Ava' s blood ran cold. "You did what?"

"He called to confirm your interest in a position. I told him you must have been confused. That you have a newborn and you' ve chosen to focus on your family," Liam said, his voice dripping with false concern. "I know postpartum hormones can make you do impulsive things. I took care of it for you."

Ava stared at him, speechless. He hadn't just disagreed with her; he had gone behind her back and actively sabotaged her. He had tried to lock her back in her cage.

"You had no right," she said, her voice trembling with a rage so pure it was almost silent.

"I' m your husband, Ava. I' m protecting you. And our family."

"You' re protecting yourself," she shot back, getting to her feet. "You' re afraid of what will happen if I have something of my own, something that doesn' t involve you."

She didn' t wait for his response. She grabbed her phone and walked past him, dialing Chef Dubois' s number again.

"Chef, it' s Ava Miller. Please disregard whatever my husband told you. I' ll be there tomorrow morning to discuss my options. I' m ready to cook."

She hung up and turned to face Liam, whose face was a mixture of shock and fury. For the first time in their life together, she felt powerful. She was no longer asking for permission.