THE CAGE OF ILLUSORY LOVE

The cold water from the rusty tap felt piercing, making her fingers, once accustomed to caressing piano keys, now rough from cheap soap. Brigita, or Gita as she was now known, stared at her reflection in the dull kitchen window. It had been a year since she traded diamonds and silk dresses for worn-out nightgowns and false promises that slowly rotted in the corner of her heart. Gita sighed, wiping the puddle of water from the fishy-smelling metal sink. Her goal in marrying Vincen, the man she had loved since college, was to find true love, not wealth. She wanted to make sure Vincen loved her for who she was, a simple, ordinary girl, far from the title of CEO of Deva Group. She succeeded, but the iron cage of simplicity she had created now felt more suffocating than a golden cage.

“Gita!” The shout of Sita Marwis, her mother-in-law, broke the silence in the living room. Gita quickly dried her hands with a worn-out cloth. She knew that voice always brought threats for her.

“Yes, Mom,” Gita replied, stepping into the living room, maintaining the obedient expression she had practiced for the past year.

Sita stood near the dining table, waving a worn thermal paper. Her wrinkled face was red with anger.

“What is this?” Sita hissed, her eyes narrowing.

“Why are there shopping receipts on the table? I told you not to be wasteful!”

“I just bought ingredients for Vincen's dinner, Mom,” Gita explained softly, “he said he wanted something a little fresher to eat.”

“Fresh? Do you think we're rich like the Deva Group, who can just throw money around like that?” Sita threw the receipt at Gita's face.

“Look at this! Chicken! Twenty-five thousand for chicken! Do you think chicken is cheap these days? What kind of daughter-in-law are you, huh? You can't even wash the dishes properly, and now you're wasting money on groceries!”

Gita picked up the receipt. It showed that she had bought discounted chicken breasts. She had chosen the cheapest ones at the slum market near their house.

“But, Mom,” Gita tried to reason, “Vincen needs protein. Yesterday, he complained of a headache because he had only eaten instant noodles.”

“Headache? Excuses! Vincen and I used to eat only rice with salt, and we were healthy too,” Sita snorted, folding her arms across her chest. “You really have no sense of gratitude. You should be thankful you’re allowed to live in this house. If you keep wasting money like this, you might as well go back to your shack!”

Gita felt her throat tighten. She held her tongue to keep from saying, 'I could even buy the whole market and replace this house with one ten times bigger, Mom, if I wanted to.

“I'm sorry, Mom,” said Gita, forcing a small smile.

“I promise I won't do it again. Tomorrow I'll cook tofu and tempeh, the cheapest things.”

Sita stared at her with disgust. “Good! Don't let me see you wasting money again. You useless woman.” Sita then walked to the sofa and turned on the television at full volume.

Gita returned to the kitchen, her heart feeling like it was being squeezed. She looked out the window, where the evening sky was turning dark purple. She wondered, did true love really have to be paid for at such a high price? With honor and self-respect?.

Around seven in the evening, the front door opened. Vincen came home looking tired, but there was a fierce glint of ambition in his eyes. He didn't look at Gita standing in the kitchen, but went straight to Sita.

“How was your day, son?” asked Sita, greeting Vincen with a kiss on the forehead.

“Tired, Mom. That little project was really difficult,” said Vincen, taking off his cheap tie. He sighed,

“I'm sure if I had the financial support and the right connections, like Risa, I would have been very successful.”

Gita, who was setting the table, felt a new sting. Risa, Vincen's ex-girlfriend. That name always came up, like a ghost that refused to leave their household.

“There, listen, Gita?” Sita quickly interjected,

“Your husband needs a woman who supports his ambitions, not a spendthrift who only knows the kitchen and wastes money on unimportant things!” Vincen finally looked at Gita. His gaze was empty, as if he were looking at a stranger.

“Come on, Mom. Don't make a fuss. I'm very hungry, Gita, is dinner ready?” he asked flatly.

“Yes, Vincen,” replied Gita, holding back the tremor in her voice. She served plates of rice and chicken that she had cooked with great care.

They began to eat. Sita was busy talking about the neighbors who had just bought a new motorcycle. Vincen was busy with his cell phone, occasionally grumbling about his business failures. Gita sat quietly, hoping Vincen would at least praise her cooking or ask about her day. The awkward silence felt heavy. Gita tried to break it.

“Is the food good, Vincen?” asked Gita, her voice sounding anxious.

Vincen nodded without looking up. He finished the last piece of chicken, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He sighed deeply, satisfied, as if the burden of his work had been lifted for a moment.

“Thank you,” Vincen muttered softly, his gaze fixed on his cell phone, as if he were talking to the screen.

“Thank you, Risa. Your cooking always calms my mind.”

Gita's heart froze in her chest; the air in the room felt thick and cold. Sita, who was chewing, even stopped. Gita was silent, her beautiful, dark eyes staring at Vincen, who was completely unaware of his mistake. He had called her Risa, not Gita, his wife. Gita's face, which had just been trying to smile, was now completely frozen. She felt a cold sting of betrayal, piercing right through her heart, as if the entire charade she had been playing for the past year had crumbled into useless dust. She had sacrificed her identity and wealth, only to hear her husband say another woman's name, right after eating the food she had cooked, food that her mother-in-law had even called wasteful.

Gita felt her tears welling up, but she couldn't cry. She had to stay strong. She opened her mouth, trying to say something to protest, to express her anger, or even to confess, but only a heavy, desperate sigh escaped her lips. Vincen put down his phone and finally turned to Gita, seeing the blank expression on his wife's face.

“What’s wrong, Gita?” Vincen asked, his tone slightly annoyed by the interruption,

“Why are you so quiet? Is there a problem?”

‘Yes, my problem is with you and your mother, Vincen!’ Gita thought to herself, staring at him with a disappointed expression.

“What I mean is, would it be a problem if I offered Risa a job?”

Gita froze, the spoon in her hand feeling cold and heavy. She closed her eyes for a moment, swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth.

“Risa?” asked Gita, her voice trying to remain calm, but sounding slightly hoarse.

“You mean Risa, your ex-girlfriend, Vin?”

Vincen looked up, finally putting down his phone. He seemed surprised, as if he had just realized there was someone else in the room.

“Oh, yeah, why? Is there a problem?” Vincen asked casually, without a hint of guilt in his voice.

“Nothing's wrong. It's just... why did you suddenly offer her a job?”

Vincen sighed, a gesture he always made when he felt Gita was interrupting his important business.

"She's very competent, Gita. I need someone who understands my vision. Risa knows the ins and outs of construction because her father is also in the industry. She can help me