Something in Eleanor's chest gave without permission.
She'd made him dumplings dozens of times over the years pork and cabbage, pork and celery, mushroom, beef and onion, lamb and zucchini, every filling she could think of.
He'd never once said they tasted bad.
He'd also never once said they were good.
Three years married, and she still had no idea which filling he actually preferred.
And now, on the edge of divorce, he was suddenly craving them. Something about that landed as painfully ironic.
"You can get your dumplings from Cassandra from now on. I'm sure hers are better."
She said it flat.
Julian let out a sigh beside her.
She didn't understand what the sigh meant.
Disappointment, maybe.
In her.
Eleanor shrugged.
Whether he was disappointed or not wasn't her problem anymor
