When Liv’s husband ambushes her with a surprise dinner for his boss, she’s expected to perform domestic magic on command. But Liv is done being invisible. With one petty-perfect plate, she flips the power and makes him see the fire behind her smile.
Sometimes, revenge is best served on toast.
I’m a work-from-home mom to a three-year-old daughter and a four-year-old son. I should be ready for anything. Right?
But I hadn’t cried in weeks.
Not even when Lena threw my phone into the toilet. Not when Noah smeared peanut butter into the cushions during a client call. Not even when I realized, mid-laundry cycle, that I’d forgotten to submit an ad revision and had to redo it with one hand while rocking a feverish toddler.
But that phone call from Nathan?
That nearly broke me.
It came just as I had finally, finally, gotten the kids down for their naps.
My laptop sat open, Slack pinging in the background. I had 45 minutes to finish a pitch deck for a boutique candle brand that insisted on using phrases like “olfactory transcendence.”
I saw Nathan’s name flash on my phone. I answered out of habit, already cringing.
“We’ll be there in five, Liv!” he said, his voice chipper, like this was a fun surprise.
“We’re starving!”
“We?” I paused, stunned.
Who the heck was Nathan bringing over? I thought to myself.
“Celeste and I! I told you about her, my new boss? I thought she’d love to meet my incredible wife and kids,” he chuckled.
“Oh, and could you make that roast you did a few weeks ago? It was amazing!”
“That roast takes three hours, Nathan,” I said. “Seriously.”
“You’ll figure it out,” he laughed.
“Just… be quick about it. You’re great at this stuff.”
Click.
This wasn’t new.
Nathan had a gift for assuming my time was his to spend. The last time he “forgot” to tell me about a parent-caregiver meeting at the day-care centre I sometimes left the kids at when meetings ate away at my day, I had to shuffle Lena into her carrier and Noah into mismatched shoes just to make it in time.
When I told him I was behind on work, he’d smile and say, “You’ve got this. You always do.”
And I did.
Because I had to.
Until now.
I moved mechanically, setting the table with our wedding China, something that we hadn’t used since our fifth anniversary. The candles flickered in their holders. I folded cloth napkins into delicate swans and placed wine glasses by each plate.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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