EX-Wife Strikes Back
Holding on to us.
The kitchen lights flickered on, and I started the routine I knew by heart. The smell of butter hit the pan, the coffee machine hummed softly. I moved quietly, like a ghost in my own home.
By the time he came down, the table was perfectly set. I smiled at him, waiting for the small, simple things: a glance, a thank you, maybe a kiss on the cheek.
But he didn’t even look at the plate.
“Cancel dinner tonight,” he said, adjusting his tie in the mirror by the doorway. “I have work.”
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