“My Husband Tossed the Meal I Made With a Smile — What He Said Next Shattered Everything”

That morning, I woke with a sense of determination I hadn’t felt in months. I opened my laptop and scrolled through recipes, my fingers pausing over a rustic roast chicken with orzo. It wasn’t extravagant. It wasn’t fancy. But it was warm. Honest. A dish that spoke of home, of effort, of love.

I pictured the scene: candles glowing softly on the table, the aroma of garlic and rosemary filling the air, Neil walking in and—just for once—smiling in genuine appreciation. It had been so long since I had seen that look on his face.

By noon, I was at the market. I chose each ingredient with care—the chicken plump and fresh, the herbs fragrant, the lemons bright and heavy with juice. Even the orzo felt symbolic, like the tiny grains could weave us back together if only I cooked them with enough love.

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