I opened the door of our house, to be greeted by the whiff of food my fiancé was cooking. I took off my heels and felt drowsy as the night embraced the sky. 

That was a tough car ride. I couldn't count the number of kisses he gave and the number of moans I made.

The moment I slid into my chair, I was served with an enormous platter of food. Eggs, sausage, mushroom soup and melted cheese. Also, an elegant glass of orange juice was served by Warren.

He really has a lot of talents. Aside from being an engineer, he aspires to become a chef.

From the kitchen, Warren licked his fleshy lips and grabbed a handful of little shrimps, fried to a crisp. He placed a pile of shrimp on a plate and drenched them in creamy, sweet sauce.

He stuffed his hand clenched in oil soaked shrimp into his mouth, licked his fingers smeared with cream and oil. He dabbed his fleshy cheeks with a delicate napkin before speaking.

"How's the meet up with your friends?"

Guilt started to bile up from my stomach to my heart, "It was great."

A moment of silence passed in our dinner. We both continued eating and the only thing that can be heard was the food from our mouths.

"I wonder what our life would be when we get married. I'll do the cooking, go to work and go home to be greeted by my lovely wife."

I took a sip of the orange juice and waited for him to swallow another shrimp, "So you're telling me not to work even if we're married?"

"Well you know, we'll have a child by then and someone needs to take care of the baby."

Okay. Calm down Emily. I need you to calm down. I took another sip of the juice but this time I sulkily put the glass down on the table. "But I want to work. I didn't study for 20 years just to take care of a damn baby."

I fixed my gaze on him, but he just continued eating, "Babe, I don't want you to get stressed."

"Fine. We won't be having a baby unless you let me work," with that I left the table.

As I zoomed out of the dining room, I heard him yell, "You do know I'm not gonna change my mind, aren't you?"

My lips instantly formed into a fine line along with my clenched fist. We already talked about this multiple times, yet the same scenario always happens. He acts as if everything is fine with me.

I slammed the door of my room and leaned from it. This would not be fair for my future husband, Warren, if I continued this. I have to make up my mind before I could feel guilt for the rest of my life.

I fished my phone from my pocket and called the only person I can count on, "I'm going home, Mom."

----

Our house had walls like cold set oatmeal, painted white with window frames of mahogany. Inside was the gentle crackle of the hearth, chairs pulled inward to the warmth. The windows were mullioned, overlooking the meadows of horses and cattle.

The radio played softly and the smell of fresh cinnamon buns wafted out as I arrived with a smile spreading over my face. I set my umbrella down and took off my well worn boots.

"Mom! Dad! Emily's here!" I heard my sister shouted as she closed the door behind me. I saw my mom come out from the kitchen while holding a spatula. My sister went back to the couch and continued watching her favorite show.

"Sweetheart, you didn't text me that you're going home. I should have cooked you carbonara," my mom said and went back to the kitchen. I followed her there and leaned against the kitchen door.

I let out a sigh that was resigned and weary. Mom turned off the stove and wafted the soup. She faced me with a worried look, "Let's talk upstairs."

Slowly, I walked towards our stairs until we reached my mom's room. Before I could open, I hear mom commanded my sister, "Elle, prepare the soup."

I grabbed the doorknob and pushed the door open. The smell of old clothes had me reminisced when I was a child, wearing mom's clothes. I sat beside her at the edge of the bed.

I was about to speak when the door opened. I saw dad's eyes twinkled, "Wow, Emily you're here."

Mom signaled him to sit beside her and so he did. Dad's face became serious as he sensed this was going to be a dreaded conversation.

I fidget with my fingers and pursed my lips as I composed myself to my statement.

"Mom, dad..." I rehearsed this multiple times while I was on my way here. It should be easy, "...so my wedding will be two and a half month from now. And..."

My mom and my dad looked at me intently while I was jumbling the words in my head, "...and I don't want to continue this anymore."

I felt mom's hand over mine and she smiled. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by dad, "What? No. Emily, think! We already planned for the wedding. We contacted the planners. Everything will go to waste with your stupid plan."

I hesitantly glanced at mom as she removed her hand, "Honey, think about it more. We can't back out easily. What will we say to Warner's family? We can't cancel the wedding. Besides, you've been together for so long, maybe it's just an argument that you can both overcome."

"But--" I was instantly cut off when dad stood up and glared at me. 

"Emily, what is wrong with you?" With that, my dad rushed out of our room.

Mom held my hand and was about to speak but I also cut her off, "I'm sorry, I'll think about it more. I have to go."