She Got the Chicken Soup, I Served the Divorce

Julia's POV

Lila’s first birthday should’ve been a celebration.

Instead, it became the day I decided to end my marriage.

The clown was twisting balloon animals while the band had launched into its third round of 'The Wheels on the Bus,' and Adrian Callahan, my husband, was at the buffet station, whispering something to the caterer with a little too much urgency.

I didn’t think much of it until a server appeared carrying a small, steaming bowl of chicken soup.

It wasn’t on the menu.

There was no label—just a special request.

The server walked past our guests, past my parents, and stopped in front of Camille Quinn.

Adrian’s assistant.

Not a guest. Not family. Just her.

My husband had arranged a bowl of soup just for her.

No fanfare. No explanation.

Just a silent gesture, like she was the only one that mattered.

I didn’t hesitate.

I stepped out onto the patio, pulled out my phone, and texted my lawyer friend.

[Draft the divorce papers. I’m done.]

——

Later that evening, when I handed the divorce papers to Adrian, he released an incredulous chuckle, grasping the documents as if they were some absurd joke.

“Out of a hundred dishes served,” he scoffed, “you zeroed in on the one for Camille? Can’t you chill out with your damn possessiveness for once, Julia?”

I looked straight at him.

“Say whatever you want,” I said. “I’m divorcing you.”

When I walked back into the event hall, the air felt colder, tighter.

Camille Quinn was sitting in my seat. My husband’s right-hand side.

She wore a silk gown in a pale champagne tone—the same shade as Adrian’s tie. Then, she looked up at him and smiled like she already belonged there.

Around me, whispers crept like slow poison.

“Camille and the boss look good together.”

“They’re always working late. Wouldn’t be surprised if they’re already living together.”

The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be.

They already slid beneath my skin, sharp and effortless, until I could barely breathe.

And when Camille finally turned and saw me, she blinked with just enough surprise to make it believable, as if she hadn’t rehearsed the entire moment in her head a hundred times.

In a sweet and gentle voice, she apologized, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Callahan. I spilled red wine on your dress.

"Geez, I’m such a klutz,” she murmured, appearing pitiful.

Then, Camille turned to me, batted her eyes, and asked, “You’re not mad, are you?”

However, before I could say a word, Adrian cut in, "I know exactly the kind of person you are, Julia. Don't make a scene here."

Right there, he shifted his attention to Camille and urged her gently, "Go sit at Table 3. I had them bring you some chicken soup."

And just like that, everyone praised Adrian for being thoughtful.

“She said her stomach hurt, and Sir Adrian ordered her chicken soup right away.”

“She had a blister, and he even put a band-aid on her himself.”

“His wife must be so lucky, having such a thoughtful husband.”

I smiled. Or at least, it looked like a smile.

What no one saw were my nails digging deep into the skin of my palm.

Adrian used to hate incompetence more than anyone I’d ever met.

He once fired an assistant just for printing an extra nameplate on the spot, no second chance.

But this level of patience? I hadn’t seen it in years.

“Today’s about my daughter,” Adrian said coolly, brushing off the guest's praises. “Let’s not make it about me.”

He didn’t bother to explain. Not to me. Not to anyone.

Just before the ceremony was about to start, I stood to adjust something near the stage, and Adrian reached out to stop me.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he said casually. “I’ve already picked someone to be Lila’s godmother.”

I froze.

Before I could ask who, Camille stepped forward and hung a little safety charm around Lila’s neck like she’d been waiting for her cue.

Then she leaned down, pressed a kiss to my daughter’s cheek, and smiled. “From now on, I’m Lila’s mommy too.”

She looked up at me while saying it, her eyes fixed on mine. There was no mistaking it.

That wasn’t a smile.

It was a challenge.

The rest of the ceremony moved fast, the way things do when no one wants to linger.

Just as the ceremony was wrapping up, Adrian cut in again, loud enough to turn a few heads. "Traditionally, the baby gives a little bow to her godmother to seal the deal. Lila should do that for Camille."

"You want her to bow?" I turned to him, my brows drawing tight. “She’s one. A literal baby. Kneeling could hurt her—suffocation, brain trauma.”

Adrian’s voice turned on a dime, sharp and accusatory. “Do you ever think before you talk? Is it that she can’t or that you’re still bitter about who we picked for godmother?”

Before I could respond, Camille cut in, all soft smiles and false humility. “It's fine, Adrian. I’ve already given her a gift. That’s blessing enough.”

The man who had been arguing with me a second ago instantly calmed down.

“Mind if I say a few words to bless Lila?” Camille asked, sweet as syrup.

With Adrian's silent approval, the microphone was handed to her.

Right then, my gaze swept across the table and caught sight of a wine glass, half-full, red liquid glinting under the lights.

Camille lifted the mic.

Her face was serene, and her tone was nearly playful as she stated, “I heard Lila was conceived through IVF.”

She let the sentence hang, then smiled. “Now that I’m looking at her more closely, she really does seem a little unnatural. IVF babies tend to be more delicate. It must be tough on Mrs. Callahan, caring for her.”

Another pause. Another smile.

“Oh, and does Lila even know she came from a lab?”

'How dare she...' I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

As my patience wore thin, I stepped off the stage and slapped her across the face.

Camille's head snapped to the side, her eyes filled with tears.

Adrian's face turned icy.

He then stepped forward. Another slap followed.

Adrian said flatly, “That one was for Camille. Consider us even.”