My Husband Stole My Life's Work

cent of baking, now carried the metallic tang of fear and the acrid smell of desperation. Celina' s face was a grotesque mask of shock

er voice trembling with accusation. "You knew she

age. It was a silent confirmation of Celina's words. He had known, at least in part, the t

moment of truth. The final, brutal unveiling of the pas

tructed rose garden" wasn't just a recipe; it was a year of my life, a piece of my soul. I poured every ounce of m

rried, hushed conversations between Derek and Celina, their heads bent close, t

on the stage, accepting the accolades, holding up my dessert. My "deconstructed rose garden," presente

is. Celina had the drive. The ambition. You just... lacked the killer instinct." He' d bla

inst me. Calling my work "unoriginal," "uninspired." He' d called me "negligent," a "distract

laugh bubbling up in my throat. Such a conveni

imate slap in the face: their wedding. The glossy magazine spreads, the fawning interviews. The

eputation was in tatters. I was forced to leave the industry I loved, to dis

hysical destruction was nothing compared to the emotional wreckage they had inflicted upon me years ago.

Tell her you don't love her! Tell her we're happy! Tell

, his eyes full of a raw, painful regret. He

m, digging her nails into his skin. "Tell her you n

.. I'm sorry. I never... I never meant to hurt you." He took a shaky breath. "But Celina is right. I... I d

med what I already knew. The old wound, though reopened, no longer bled.

aid, my voice calm, almost detached. "Neither o

She can't stand that we're happy. That we're having a baby!" She wrapped her arms around De

he air knocked out of my lungs. The one thing he had denied me, the one dream

ut she can't. We're going to have a beautiful family, a beautiful life. And she'll be

shame and a strange, pleading hope. "Avis,

city. The cruelty. To ask me, the one they h

nterpiece of my kitchen, a marvel of engineering that Atlas had commissioned from a German manufacturer. "This oven, too," she d

n her eyes. Derek didn't move to stop her this time

he oven. A sickening crunch echoed through the bakery, followed by the sound of internal mechanisms buckling. The ove

me between me and my husband!" She threw the bag down, her eyes blazing with a deranged satisfaction. "Ho

just under three hundred thousand dollars. Custom build, specialized parts. And that's just the oven, Ms. Blackwel

e a death knell for Celina and Derek's fraudulent empire. Through the doorway, I saw t

white. She stared at Atlas, then at me, then at the law