Cooked Meals, Cooked Lies

Jack Cooke—my husband, who'd never so much as scrambled an egg—suddenly went full kitchen freak. He bought a ton of pots and spatulas, then spent all day just... polishing them.

When I called him out, he shrugged. "I like things clean. That a crime now?"

Behind him? A mountain of dirty socks.

Then it got weirder. He dragged all the kitchen stuff into our bedroom.

At night, he'd get weird with a dishcloth. Like, disturbingly weird.

I was done. I asked for a divorce.

Jack stormed into a private dining room and shredded the papers right in front of our investors.

"You're seriously ending our marriage over this? Kinda dramatic, don't you think?"

I didn’t blink. “I gave up my spot for your pots and pans. A little thanks wouldn’t kill you.”

Jack Cooke went pale with rage. "Seven years together and you just drop divorce papers outta nowhere? Do you even know what people are saying about me?"

Once I calmed the investors, I gave him a blank stare. "I'm busy. Talk to Pedro. He'll catch me up."

The investors just stared.

I used to be that lovesick idiot, ready to throw it all away for Jack.

Now? I was the one walking out.

Jack jabbed a finger in my face. "I'm your husband. Since when do we need a middleman just to talk? Or wait—this about Pedro? That why you're doing this?"

Before I could answer, a woman in a chef's hat stormed in and slapped me.

Linda Keller. Head chef.

"Ms. Somerset, what you're doing is heartless! Jack only started cooking 'cause he saw how exhausted you were. You never appreciated him. And now you're cheating with your assistant and demanding a divorce?"

The room froze. All eyes on me.

"So she's been keeping a side piece this whole time," someone muttered. "No wonder her husband snapped."

Jack let out this dramatic sigh and grabbed my hand. "Babe, I know I've been kinda distant with all the cooking stuff, but I was doing it for your health. I'll get better at balancing everything, okay? Just... don't be mad."

The way he played it all sweet only made me look like the brat in the room.

Even the investors—people who'd known me for years—started siding with him.

"Think about everything you two have been through," they said. "Don't just toss it all over a rough patch."

I looked Jack dead in the eye, pulled out the divorce papers from my bag, and dropped them on the table.

"You came all this way. Let's just get it over with. Ask for whatever you want—if I've got it, it's yours."

He froze. Clearly didn't think I'd still want out after his whole guilt-trip performance.

Then he snapped. "I'm not getting divorced!"

He ripped the papers to shreds.

I didn't flinch. Just reached into my bag and pulled out another set. "Go ahead, rip that too. There's a copy shop downstairs. Sign when you're done acting out—I've got time."

I sat down and went back to business like nothing happened.

Jack just stood there, stunned. "Why? Why do you have to divorce me?"

Didn't even bother looking up. "I'm over it. We'll both be better off."

Linda grabbed my arm, yelling, "Over it? After seven years, that's your excuse? Just admit you've fallen for someone else!"

I frowned and slapped her. "You're defending him a little too hard. What, you two got something going on? And let me be clear—you cook. Stay in your lane."