The Chef's Lie, Her Scars

rfect life was a lie. To win the coveted Golden Spoon award, he brought i

alent to win the award, securing our empire. After tha

he respectable chef wife, the passio

and painted me as a jealous, unstable woman when I caught them together. He though

as w

o the hospital for a minor scratch, I finally saw the truth. I would not just leave him. I would vanish, er

pte

arpent

Nash wasn't from the Chicago wind; it was the kind that s

covers, the packed restaurant, the awards lining our shelves. They saw the dazzling smile Collin reserved for public appearance

echo in our pen

cited about. "Sounds great, Em," he'd say, already scrolling through his phone. Our once passionate co

with the clatter of pans and the organized chaos of a busy kitchen. It was easier

came up. He' d barely looked up from his financial reports. "They complicate things. Our

d anything truly important, had bought it. I loved him. Or, I loved the man I thought he was, the man who had wh

verything I do, I do for us, for our future." His wo

legacy. It was the place where I felt alive, where I felt seen, even if only by the ingredients themselves. It w

l. "Golden Spoon Award, Collin. Win it, or I pull my funding." His voice ha

legend, a career-defining honor. Collin, ever the strategist, had resp

nfidence. Hope, a fragile bird, fluttered in my chest. If we won, maybe the pressure would lift. Maybe he would s

each his eyes. "We need fresh blood, new energy. A protégé. Someone to i

. But it was her face that made my breath catch. She was me, twenty years younger, with the same strong jawline, the same

ed, trying to sound professional when

proprietorial tone that sent another shiver down my spin

nt. For us. Collin knew best, right? He always had.

felt cloying that day. "See? I told you everything would be fine. We' ll win this, Em.

me, for our life, was real, a foundation that could withstand any pressure. It was easier t

ve home late, his clothes smelling faintly of her perfume – a different, sweeter scent than mine – and a tired but exhilarated look on

my stomach. He' d started getting texts at odd hours, always from "work" or "Eldridge."

d to initiate conversations, to bridge the growing silence between us

om Collin, "Happy Birthday, Em! Stuck in a m

a bottle of expensive wine untouched on the counter, the silence louder than ever. I made excuses for him, for

se the flames. My arm, my dominant arm, took the brunt of it. Pain, searing and immediate, ripp

in. I'm hurt. Th

ugh the phone. "Em? Now? I'm with Eldridge. C

hun

buzz in my ear. The manager, bless his heart, helped me to the hospital. The doctors wrapped

ouquet of generic flowers in hand. "Oh, Em! My poor darling, I'm so sorry! Eldridge had me tied up.

ne, mine was lighter, streaked with silver I'd earned in that very kitchen. I found a tiny, diamante earring, clearly not mine, ne

e kind of event where champagne flowed and reputations were made or broken. Collin had insiste

alf-open door, the muffled voices of Collin and someone else drifting out. I recognized his laugh, low a

ice said, sounding vaguely familia

he's not. Emma's the genius, the one who'll secure the Golden Spoo

I pressed myself closer to the do

ed. It was Chloe, Collin' s old college f

once everything's settled, I set Casey up with her own place. Maybe in Europe. Somewhere chic. She's young, amb

nted both. My love, my talent, my life – it was all just a chess piece in his game, a means to an end.

n. The glittering lights of the gala, the distant murmur

cake and eat it too, Collin?" Chloe'

ays do. Emma's too devoted, too focused on the restaurant. She'll

lips, a tiny, involunt

room abruptly stopped.

e. The door swung open, revealing Collin, his eyes narrowed, his face a mask of surprise, then something colder. His gaze swe

void of the warmth I had just overhea

t. My lips trembled, but no words came out. He looked at m

concern for Chloe's benefit. His touch felt like acid. "

rd was a fragile thread, barely holding my world to

false concern that made my stomach churn. He didn't

he background, her face a mixtu

e everything. He thought he could use me, discard me, and still profit from my b

nderneath. My eyes locked onto his, stripping away the mask he wore. "A phase. A fleeting fancy." I wa

ng about? You're being dramatic. You heard nothing." He t

he blind devotion, it had all burned away in the fire o

be enough? A younger version of me, a pale imitation." I pulled my arm

the complete absence of the pleading, heartbroken wife he e

r – it all faded into a dull roar behind me. I had just witnessed the complete destruction of my life, but in its ashes, a new, terrif