CHAPTER 2 The Interview

Kate.

I woke up Tuesday morning with my heart pounding.

The interview was for three hours and I had not told David.

I slipped out of bed while he was still sleeping, or pretending to sleep, lately I could not tell the difference. In the kitchen, I pulled out ingredients without thinking: eggs, butter, cream, fresh herbs from the garden I still tended even though no one ate what I cooked anymore.

My hands remembered what my mind had tried to forget.

Tehilla appeared in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes. "What are you making, Mama?"

"Something special." I cracked eggs into a bowl, whisked them with cream until they were silky. "Want to help?"

Her face lit up. For the next hour, we cooked together—herb soufflé, delicate and perfect, the kind of food that required complete attention. The kind of thing I had not made in years.

When we plated it, Tehilla actually gasped. "It's so pretty!"

"Beauty and taste," I told her, the same thing Chef Henri had told me a lifetime ago. "Both matter."

"Can Theo have some?"

I looked at the second soufflé, golden and proud. "Sure. Go wake him up."

She ran off. I heard her knocking on Theo's door, her excited voice calling to her brother.

Then I heard his response: "I don't want Mom's weird food. I want cereal."

Tehilla came back alone, her smile gone.

"It's okay, baby." I knelt and hugged her. "More for us."

But it was not okay, nothing was okay.

I checked the time. Two hours until the interview.

David came downstairs in his suit, already on his phone. He barely glanced at me. "I have back-to-back meetings today. I will be home late."

"David, I need to tell you something—"

"Sarah!" he said into his phone, his whole face changing. "Yes, I saw your email. Brilliant work on the Henderson pitch. I will be there in twenty minutes." He paused, laughed at something she said. "You always know exactly what I need."

He hung up and grabbed his briefcase.

"David…"

"Not now, Kate. I have an important day." He was already halfway to the door. "Oh, and my mother is coming for dinner tonight. Try to make something normal, okay? Not your experimental stuff."

The door slammed before I could respond.

I stood there in my kitchen, in the house I cleaned and the life I maintained, and felt absolutely nothing.

Then I looked at Tehilla, at my daughter who still believed in me, and made a decision.

"Want to come on an adventure with me?"

~~~

Morrison occupied the top floor of the Bellmont Tower, with all floor-to-ceiling windows and gleaming steel. The kind of place I used to belong.

The kind of place I had forgotten I deserved.

"Mrs. Taylor." The hostess recognized me immediately, she had been a line cook when I was rising through the ranks. Her eyes widened. "We heard you might be coming. Chef Morrison is waiting."

She led me past the dining room where early lunch prep was happening. The sounds, the smells, the organized chaos—it all hit me like coming home.

Alex met me at his office door. Behind him, I could see awards on the walls, photos with culinary legends, a framed review that called Morrison's "the future of fine dining."

"You came," he said, and he looked genuinely pleased.

"I almost did not."

"But you did." He gestured for me inside. "That is what matters."

The interview was not really an interview. We talked about food, about technique, about the dishes I used to create and the dreams I used to have. He showed me the kitchen, introduced me to his sous chef, asked me to taste their signature dish, and told him what I thought.

I closed my eyes and let the flavors speak. "The reduction is perfect, but the protein is overcooked by thirty seconds. And the garnish, while beautiful, does not complement the earthiness of the truffle. I would use something brighter. Micro herbs. Lemon zest oil."

When I opened my eyes, Alex was smiling.

"When can you start?"

My heart stopped. "What?"

"I want you, Kate. I have wanted you since the moment you walked away from cooking. My father has wanted you. This kitchen has needed you." He leaned against the counter. "So when can you start?"

"I have to talk to my husband—"

"Why?" The question was gentle but sharp. "Does he ask your permission before making decisions?"

No. He did not.

"I can start Monday," I heard myself say.

"Perfect." Alex extended his hand. "Welcome back."

I shook it, and for the first time in seven years, I felt like myself.

~~~

I practically floated home, Tehilla chattering excitedly about the "fancy restaurant" in the backseat. I was going to tell David tonight. Really tell him. This was happening whether he liked it or not.

I was done asking permission to exist.

I pulled into our driveway and stopped.

Sarah's car was parked there. At three in the afternoon. On a Tuesday.

"Stay in the car, baby," I told Tehilla.

"But Mama—"

"Stay."

I walked to the front door with my heart in my throat. It was unlocked. I pushed it open quietly.

The house was silent except for sounds from upstairs. Voices. Laughter.

I climbed the stairs like I was walking through water. 

Our bedroom door was open.

Sarah stood in front of my full-length mirror, wearing my silk robe. The ivory one David had given me for our fifth anniversary, the one I saved for special occasions.

She was trying on my jewelry. Making herself at home in my life.

"Oh!" She spun around when she saw me, her hand flying to her throat. "Kate! I didn't hear you come in."

"What are you doing in my house?" My voice came out steady.

"David asked me to drop off some files. I got caught in the rain, and he said I could freshen up—" She gestured at the robe like it was nothing. "I hope you don't mind. He said you would not be back until later."

He had said. He had given her permission to wear my clothes, use my space, and exist in my bedroom.

"Where is David?"

"Shower." She smiled, and it was razor-sharp. "Long day at the office. We were reviewing the Ashford presentation and lost track of time."

The bathroom door opened. Steam rolled out, and David emerged in a towel, his hair wet.

He froze when he saw me.

For one long moment, nobody moved.

Then Sarah laughed, light and easy. "This is awkward. I should go." She started to leave, still wearing my robe, and David did not stop her.

He did not say a word.

"Take it off," I said quietly.

Sarah paused. "What?"

"My robe. Take it off."

She looked at David. Actually looked at him for permission. And he, my husband, the father of my children, just stood there dripping onto our bedroom floor and said nothing.

Sarah slipped out of the robe, handed it to me, and walked past in her business clothes that had apparently been under it the whole time.

"I will see you tomorrow, David," she called from the stairs.

The front door closed.

I looked at my husband. Really looked at him. At the man I had given up everything for.

"How long?" I asked.

"Kate, nothing happened—"

"How long has she been coming here? Wearing my things? Playing house in my life?"

"You are being dramatic. She needed to change and I—"

"I got a job." The words came out sharp and clean. "At Morrison's as their head chef. I will start on Monday."

His face went dark. "No."

"I was not asking permission."

"You are a mother, Kate. You have responsibilities. You cannot just—"

"I am done," I said. Each word felt like breaking chains. "I am done shrinking. I am done pretending I am less than I am."

I grabbed my phone and called my lawyer, the one I had looked up last week in a moment of clarity I had almost talked myself out of.

"I want a divorce," I said when she answered, my eyes locked on David's shocked face. "How soon can we start the process?"

David's face went white. "You cannot be serious."

But I had never been more serious in my life.

I walked out of that bedroom, picked up a few of Tehilla's things, and left.

I did not look back.