Petrichor Monologue

The afternoon rain had been generous. The air was cool, and the fresh, earthy scent made my walk home slightly more pleasant than usual. I have always found the scent of rain refreshing—the sweet fragrance that a satisfied Earth emanates when the seeds of the clouds thoroughly romances her. Petrichor, is it called?
Surely they could have given it a better term. After all, it's only right to give such a scent a sweet name. My wandering mind was halted by the weight I was carrying: half a kilo of fish and two packets of milk.
I quickened my pace realising that the little ones were waiting for me. My culinary skills were limited to boiling and frying eggs, but the last time I made fish, they loved it, and
I thought I'd make one for them again.
She had found a new lover. He seemed like someone whom she would get involved with. He wasn't well groomed, and his demeanour revealed that he was a hard fighter and a careless lover. And there she was, trying to keep up with his quickening pace.

She turned around and saw me standing there with the dinner I was going to prepare for her and her kids. She stopped and stared at me. I didn't know what was going through her mind but I knew what she was about to do. I had seen her leave home every evening, leaving her kids alone. Sometimes she would be gone for an hour, and other times a few more. Not once had I questioned her. But lately, she would even be gone for a whole night. Perhaps I had been making her too comfortable. "When are you coming back?" I asked. Her new lover stopped and turned back, and then continued walking. He didn't seem to care who I was or what I wanted.

She didn't answer.

"I'm making fish tonight. The kids loved it last time. Should I keep some for you?"
I said as I raised my hand showing her