1 | Divorce, Relief, and a Lonely House
When my parents divorced, most people expected me to collapse under heartbreak. Instead, I felt an almost guilty relief. I adored them both, but their marriage had been like watching two magnets repelling each other—constant tension, no tenderness. Once the papers were signed, the household finally breathed.
Mom tried to act brave, but evenings exposed her solitude. She’d message me at odd hours just to chat about grocery sales or TV reruns. I urged her to think about dating again, reminding her that companionship wasn’t betrayal; it was survival.
Months passed. One Tuesday afternoon my phone lit up with an excited call.
“Casey,” Mom said, breathless, “I’ve met someone. His name is Aaron. He’s a pastry chef. Wait till you taste his éclairs—you’ll swoon.”
Her voice carried a melody I hadn’t heard since before the fighting began. I told her I was thrilled and meant it.
She invited me to dinner that Saturday. All I knew was Aaron, pastry chef, good éclairs. That sounded harmless enough.
2 | A Bottle of Wine and a Bad Omen
A fancy bottle of red felt like the least I could bring, even if it meant living on instant noodles until payday. My savings were already stretched thin; every dollar funneled into my dream of opening a bistro someday.
