Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

She couldn’t stop looking at the clock. No matter how much she tried, her eyes always found its way back to the white glass instrument sitting prettily on the wall at the entrance of the kitchen.

Sophie Billard is usually seen as a calm, classy and collected woman.

Until it is time to cook for her husband’s family.

One would question the reason the Billard family lived together in one estate but to them, it was a perfectly reasonable thing to do and as someone who married into the family knowing the dynamics of their daily life, she couldn’t complain. Not that she had any right to.

The clattering of plates to the ground had Sophie snapped out of her thoughts and turning around to focus her attention on her three cooks who stared wide-eyed at her with sorry looks all on their faces.

“We are sorry, Mrs. Sophie.” Emma, the oldest one who had stayed with her for years, the only one she met in the family when she arrived as a newlywed, said to her. “It was a mistake.”

Sophie sighed at her words, placing a hand over her forehead in despair. She didn’t know whether to be angry at the servants, for making things more difficult than they were or whether to ignore them and allow them to go back to work, afterall, it was rush-hour, and a lot of mistakes happen at rush hours.

After just three seconds of contemplation, she decided to do the latter. She turned away from the broken shards on the ground and casted another awful look at the clock.

7;50am.

“We have ten more minutes guys.” She said to them, leaving the counter where she stood to go over to the stove where Maya, one of the servants she had hired herself, a tall girl of slender figure, stood. She peeped into the pot of stew and sighed.

“How long before that is ready?” She asked, snatching the spoon away from her hand. Her servants normally would have been surprised at her action, but since it was that day of the month, they understood why she was getting irritated.

“We need just five minutes more, Mrs. Sophie.” Maya responded.

“Well, I don’t have five minutes. You,” she turned to the last girl whose name she always forgot. “Stop doing that and begin to pack the dishes in the trolley.” She snapped and the girl who had already bent to pick up the shards of glass from the floor, stood abruptly and dragged the trolley sitting at the far end of the ridiculously large kitchen.

Like maniacs, all four women in the kitchen began to pack things inside the trolley. A tray of spaghetti, a tray of chicken, a big bowl of porridge, white rice served in a white ceramic cooler, a bowl of soup covered with white satin material and so many wine glasses.

Sophie turned to the time again when they were done and after seeing she had just five more minutes to deliver the food to the main dining area, turned to Maya who began turning the stew again.

“Turn that off. We are not going with it.”

Maya’s mouth hung open for a brief second but when she saw the serious look on Sophie’s face, nodded her head immediately. “Of course, ma’am.”

In a split second, the food trolley was turned towards the exit of the kitchen, with the cooks pushing carefully and Sophie, resting her back against the counter. She waited until they were out of sight before taking a very deep breath of relief. In her head, she calculated how much time it would take them to get to the adjoining door which joined her husband’s mansion, to that of the main family house and how many seconds it would take the door which could pass for an elevator, to count down and finally open.

“Well, whatever will be, will be, Sophie.” She said to reassure herself. Four years married to Simon Billard, and she still didn’t know how to handle the only day out of the month where she had to cook for her in-laws. With a slight shake of her head, she walked out of the kitchen, stepping on the broken shards with her bare foot. The pain from the shards sent signals flying up her brain but she had no time to nurse her injury. She and Simon were late for breakfast and the one thing Chairman Joe Billard of Billard group hated, was lateness.

With grace and poise, Sophie walked straight into her living room and lobby, ignoring the servants who were worried about the prints of blood her injury was leaving on the ground. As she walked, one of them cleaned up after her with a rag, making sure the house was shiny and spotless, like she always wanted. Sophie took the long train of stairs to the room, her head still lifted high until she got to her bedroom door, the only place in the mansion she was no longer allowed to enter freely.

“You may leave now.” She turned calmly to the servant with the rag and the petite girl nodded her head smartly before walking out of her sight. Sophie took two deep breaths, wincing a little as the wound on her feet now hurt more than before. She knew she needed medical care, but also knew she couldn’t afford one at the moment. Not when her in-laws were waiting in the main house for she and her husband, probably wearing long looks on their faces.

Sophie quietly opened the door of her large bedroom, her gaze shifting to the clothes scattered on the floor. At first, she saw her husband’s white shirt, the one he had worn two days ago which was the last time she had seen him. Then she saw the flimsy excuse of a gown which belonged to the woman probably still in her husband’s arms on her matrimonial bed. She walked slowly to the gown, picked it up and placed it against her nose.

It was the same scent. She thought to herself. The scent she had grown to hate over the past year and one she knew belonged to only one woman.

Sophie clenched her fist tightly as she continued her walk past the bathroom door, past the closet door, and into the corner where her and her husband’s matrimonial bed was situated. She braced herself for the view she knew she was going to meet; the view she has always met every time he decided to come home to her.

Her husband in bed with his mistress, the second woman in his life.

And she was right.

On the bed, Monica was sprawled on top of Simon, her hands laced over his chest in the most intimate matter. Sophie sighed a little, but because she had no time to waste, pasted a smile on her oval-shaped face as she leaned over to wake her husband from sleep.

“Simon.” She called softly. “Simon.” She called again, standing erect when he stirred. Like the light sleeper that he was, his blue ocean eyes shot open, and her smile widened. “It’s breakfast time. Your family is waiting.”