My Husband Stole My Life's Work

g dessert concept, the one we were supposed to bui

stranger and plastered his new relationship

n recipes, their sickeningly bright smil

ouldn't keep her husband or her ideas safe. My repu

running my own small bakery, finding peac

hat chapter

stroy me all over again. They came to shatter m

dea who my ne

pte

ert concept, he took everything that mattered. Six years ago, my worl

to his hand, was now facedown on the counter. He kept glancing at it, a nervous twitc

ng, but it clung to me like the scent of burnt sugar. We had

clear the air, whatever 'air' there was to clear.

ever heard of. The envelope was thick, the paper crisp. It felt like a physical

Celina, my intern, the girl I' d patiently taught to temper chocolate and pipe ga

"Poor Avis," they'd say, "so talented, but couldn't keep her man or her recipes safe."

n. I resurfaced in a quiet corner of the city, the owner of "The Gilded Crumb," a smal

hard of ice through my veins. Derek Roberson stood there, framed in the doorway. He looked olde

went slack. The carefully constructed wall around my heart cracked just a millime

e kind, the one he used for investors and critics. "Avis," he said,

ession blank. "Can I help you, sir?" It was a

" He chuckled, a hollow s

Gilded Crumb. We specialize in artisan

oasted hazelnuts, and vanilla wafted from the kitchen. It was the same symph

threw away. It was a quiet kind of satisfactio

s features. Customers came and went, oblivious to the history unfolding before them. I kept bus

ter now, almost a plea. "We used to ta

to escape. I did remembe

ms. His arm had been wrapped around me, pulling me close as we sketched i

top of my head. "Our empire. Built on your talen

my heart and soul into that shared vision, tr

bakery, the contrast was brutal. He wasn't my future.

back to the present. "They're made with almond flour and browned butter, just the way you al

ething unreadable passing through

. His face paled as he saw the caller ID. He turned away from me, his voice hushed, almos

d at me with such innocent admiration, only to plunge the knife deeper than anyone else. I had once felt a

avoided my gaze, a flush creeping up

a single, perfectly golden financier. "No need," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "

uture we' d planned, were now clouded with a desperate, pathetic regret. H

, and turned on his heel, almost running out the door. The chim

ked, her eyes wide with curiosity. She hadn't seen

cing a smile. "Now, let's focus on those m

... intense. And a bit sad. Not like the usual h

ce. The king of his own little empire, built on my stolen dreams. He still was, in his

. But as I locked up "The Gilded Crumb" that evening, the setting sun casting l

husband, was probably already home, cooking dinner. His quiet strength, his unwavering support,

rrow, another, even more venomous specter would arrive, threatening to shatte