Скачать или смотреть My wife suddenly started being perfect—cooking, cleaning, loving. That's when I knew she was reborn

The coffee mug slipped from my hands, shattering against the kitchen floor as I stared at the scene before me. Rachel stood at the stove, humming softly while flipping pancakes with one hand and stirring scrambled eggs with the other. The kitchen sparkled like something from a home magazine—every surface gleaming, fresh flowers arranged perfectly on the counter, and the morning sunlight streaming through spotless windows.

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This wasn't my wife. Not the Rachel who usually rushed out the door with coffee-stained scrubs, leaving cereal bowls in the sink and reminding me to pick up dinner on my way home. This woman moved with a grace I'd never seen before, her smile serene and knowing, as if she possessed some secret that transformed everything she touched. The transformation had begun three weeks ago, so subtle at first that I convinced myself I was imagining things.

Small changes—dinner waiting when I came home instead of takeout containers, laundry folded and put away without my asking, conversations that flowed like gentle streams instead of our usual exhausted exchanges about schedules and responsibilities. But this morning, watching her glide through the kitchen like some domestic goddess, I felt a chill run down my spine that had nothing to do with the October air seeping through our Riverside home.

The morning that changed everything started like any other Tuesday in our ten-year marriage. My alarm screamed at six-thirty, jolting me from another restless night of sleep. Rachel's side of the bed was already cold, which meant she'd been up for at least an hour getting ready for her shift at Riverside General Hospital. I could hear the familiar sounds of chaos from downstairs—Emma arguing about her school clothes, Tyler crying about something trivial, and the general mayhem that defined our mornings in the Chen household.

I stumbled to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Thirty-five years old and looking every day of it, with dark circles under my eyes and stubble that made me look more homeless than distinguished. The marketing campaigns I'd been working on at Henderson Agency were bleeding into my dreams, and the stress was showing.