Tell Her Good Luck

I legit thought I was dreaming.

The front door? Wide open. Warm light poured out from the kitchen. Inside, a picture-perfect little "family of four" was living their best evening.

Guy at the stove with a spatula. Girl behind him, tying an apron around his waist.

Two kids were zoned out on the couch, glued to a cartoon.

Cute, right? Except the guy playing happy husband? That was Jack Mihoff. My husband.

They were so into their Hallmark moment, they didn't even clock me standing there.

I walked in just in time to hear Jack go, "Careful, don't let the oil pop on your face. Scoot over."

Jenny Talia giggled. "If I get burned, I'll be ruined. Would you still love me?"

"That's why I take care of you."

"Jack, you're so sweet. I wish we could be together every day."

Cue the dramatic waist hug. She clung to him. He turned, kissed her.

I stood there, frozen. That whole scene kept playing on loop, like my brain hit slow-mo and couldn't find the exit.

Then—Willy's voice from the living room:

"Mom!"

I turned just in time to see him toss his tablet and bolt toward the kitchen.

But it was already too late. The "happy couple" had spotted me.

Jack blinked, like he was surprised.

"Thought you had a haul today. Didn't go?"

His voice was so chill, like I hadn't just walked into a whole betrayal. I didn't say a word.

I went into the kitchen. Slam. Loud enough to shake the walls.

Jenny jumped.

"Ruth, don't be mad. I saw them alone, figured we'd just eat together—"

I stared her down, then slapped her before she could finish.

Jack stepped in, all protective.

"What the he—"

Smack.

I hit him too. Pain flared in my thigh, but I didn't care.

"Bad Mom! You hit Jenny! Bad Mom!"

Willy. Tiny fists flying at me.

I pushed him back. He fell, landed on his butt, popped right back up, and charged again.

"Bad Mom! Bad Mom! Waaaah!"

Jenny scooped Willy into her arms.

Jack steadied her, throwing me a look like I was dirt on his shoe.

That look? It snapped something in me.

Ten years of grinding, running myself ragged—for this?

Everything went dark. My chest felt like it was splitting open.

I had nothing left. No fight. No words.

I turned and walked out, shoving past the nosy neighbors crowding the front door.

Made it next door to my place.

As soon as I got in, I dropped to the floor.

Cold tile under my hands. That chill said it all—this was real.

Same apartment. Same furniture.

But it didn't feel like home anymore.