Not a Puppet Wife
Berikut adalah terjemahan bahasa Inggris dari naskah "Istri Bukan Boneka", telah disesuaikan agar cocok untuk pembaca Webnovel internasional, tetap menjaga nuansa emosional dan gaya penceritaannya:
The Jakarta sky hung pale blue that morning, but inside a two-story house in Cipinang, the air felt colder than usual.
A stillness lingered, as if the walls were holding their breath, bracing for something that was cracking but not yet broken.
In the kitchen, Rafika Utari stood in front of the stove. A low flame sizzled beneath the wok, nearly burning the stir-fried morning glory.
The omelet on the plate had long gone cold she'd cooked it in a rush before six a.m.
Four plates were neatly arranged on the dining table :
one for her husband, one for her mother in law, one for her younger sister-in-law who often forgot what manners were, and one for herself though she knew she often lost her appetite after hearing her food mocked.
Footsteps echoed from the stairs.
Quick. Sharp. Full of complaints.
"Too late to cook.
How is Ibu supposed to eat kangkung in the morning like this?"
The voice of Gendis, her mother-in-law who had never accepted her, shot through the room without even a morning greeting. She sat down without looking at Utari, grabbing the tall glass of sweet tea.
"Sorry, Bu. I didn't have enough money to buy proper dishes yesterday."
"Didn't you say you sell things online? Always getting orders, right? And this is all you can serve us? Village food?"
Utari lowered her head slightly. She didn't argue. Didn't defend herself. She knew—whatever she said, it would always be wrong.
"Just let it go, Bu,"
came Bara's voice from the living room. "Her cooking isn't that good anyway."
He didn't look at her. He just sat down and scrolled through his phone, eyes glued to the screen.
His attitude screamed boredom. As if marriage was a mistake he couldn't undo, a contract he regretted signing.
The words weren't loud, but they pierced like needles small yet sharp. And they hurt, because this wasn't the first time.
Because Utari already knew: today would be no different.
Then came Joana, descending from upstairs. Her steps were light, her pajamas short, her smile sweet and fake.
She passed by Utari without a word and sat next to Bara like a girlfriend, not a sister.
"Utariii If you have time, can you wash my clothes today? I've got plans with Zea."
Utari stopped scooping rice. "Zea?"
Joana grinned, her lips painted a bold red. "Of course. You know her, right? The girl who's actually perfect for Mas Bara... before he got tricked into marriage."
Bara didn't react. Didn't deny it.
As if the statement didn't need correction because it was the truth.
Utari took a slow breath.
The smell of burnt vegetables had now become a pain simmering in her chest.
Zea.
The name wasn't new.
She had heard it whispered by neighbors, hinted in WhatsApp chats, even mumbled from Bara's lips in his sleep.
Zea... Zea... like a secret chant that never truly faded.
But this morning, the name was no longer just a shadow.
It became real spoken aloud without guilt, praised in front of the legal wife.
---
That afternoon, Utari was ironing clothes in the back room.
The old fan barely cooled the sweat dripping down her temples.
On the table, Bara's phone vibrated.
Unintentionally, her eyes glanced over.
The screen lit up:
Zea : "Thanks, babe. Got the money. Tonight I'll pick the dinner place, okay"
Utari quickly turned to the door.
No one was there.
The phone stopped buzzing.
She didn't touch it. Didn't open anything.
But her heart felt like it had been pried open by that message.
Whose money?
The household's money?
Used to dine with a woman praised in front of her, flaunted like a trophy from the past?
---
Night fell as usual.
The sky darkened. The house stayed quiet.
But Utari's mind was loud whispers she couldn't silence.
Bara had just come out of the shower. His hair wet, wearing a thin white shirt and shorts. As if this house was just a transit hotel between one secret life and the next.
At his small desk, the laptop screen glowed.
Unlocked. A folder popped open automatically:
PRIVATE 2022
Utari slowly sat down.
Her fingers trembled, but her heart was already cold.
She opened the folder.
First file: Z1.mp4
Click.
Zea's face filled the screen, laughing, calling Bara's name, stroking his hair.
Second file: TransferZeaJan22.jpg
Rp 3,500,000
For: Zea Dara
Note: "For you"
Third file: BaliHotelZ.mp4
The image was blurry but clear enough.
The same hotel bed she once knew.
Bara's voice was unmistakable. His moans... weren't for her.
Utari stared at the screen. Not to feed curiosity.
But to confirm: she wasn't crazy.
She wasn't overreacting.
She was betrayed.
Without a sound, she closed everything.
Shut the laptop.
She stood.
Walked to her vanity.
Opened the bottom drawer.
And pulled out a worn, navy blue notebook.
It used to be her shopping list book.
Tonight, it changed purpose.
She flipped to an empty page and began to write:
"Today, I did not cry.
Today, I began to take notes."
She wrote four names:
Zea Dara
Joana Mahesa
Gendis Astuti
Bara Mahesa
She closed her eyes for a moment.
Then opened them again.
Beneath the list, she wrote one more line:
"Not to kill. But to witness…
when I rise beyond their reach."
She closed the notebook.
Put it back in its place.
And turned off the bedroom light.
But for the first time, she didn't sleep to rest.
She slept…
to plan.