Cooked Meals, Cooked Lies

I was almost done packing when I noticed it—my dad's antique bracelet was gone.

I tore through drawers, boxes—nothing.

Then Linda walked in, all innocent. "Ms. Somerset, what are you looking for? I can help."

I froze.

The bracelet on her wrist? That was mine.

I grabbed her wrist without thinking. "Give it back."

Linda yanked away, gasping. "Ms. Somerset, what are you doing?! What bracelet? I have no idea what you're talking about!"

The noise drew a crowd upstairs.

The moment she spotted Jack, she cranked up the drama. "Jack, help! She's accusing me of stealing! Says this bracelet's hers!"

Jack rushed over and yanked me back. "What are you doing? I gave that bracelet to Linda when she started helping me cook. Quit the drama."

Then he grabbed a jewelry box from the closet and shoved it at me. "This is yours. Don't blame people just 'cause you lost stuff."

I popped it open. Fake. The glass was dull and lifeless—definitely not the one my dad gave me.

I shot Linda a look. "Last chance. Give it back or I'm ripping it off your wrist."

She ducked behind Jack like a scared little mouse.

So I lunged.

She did the whole dramatic stumble thing, and boom—the bracelet slammed against the table and shattered.

***

Everyone froze.

Nobody thought I'd actually go for it. I'd been calm the whole time—until now.

But the real shocker? The bracelet shattered.

I dropped to my knees, collecting the pieces.

Jack pulled Linda up. "Sonna, I've dealt with your tantrums, your mood swings—I'm your husband, that's my job. But Linda's a guest. Putting your hands on her? That's too far!"

I looked straight at Linda, eyes blazing. "She deserved it."

Gasps.

Their stares got colder, heavier. I was the psycho wife now.

And Jack? Oh, he played the loyal, patient husband like a pro.

"Fine!" he snapped. "You want this divorce so bad? Let's do it! I'll stream the whole court case live—let the world see what kind of monster you are!"

I didn't even look at him.

Just packed up the shattered bracelet, slipped it into my bag, and walked out with the movers.

After all that, there was no stopping the divorce news from blowing up.

Online, the rumors went wild.

Some said I had postpartum depression and lost it. Others claimed I faked the miscarriage—that the baby wasn't even Jack's. The worst? That I used dirty tricks to trap him into marrying me.

I couldn't care less.

I even hired some PR burners to stir the pot.

Let them talk. The bigger the drama, the harder the truth's gonna slap.

A week later, we were in court.

At the door, Jack hit me with that same fake-tired look. Still playing the victim. "Babe, just admit you messed up. I'll drop everything. We can go back like none of this ever happened."

I walked right past him.

He glanced at the docs I'd filed and scoffed. "How many times do I have to say it? What I did wasn't even cheating. You're just being extra. It's not too late to stop making a fool of yourself."

I smiled, cool as ice, and handed the judge a new folder.

Then I looked at Jack, calm and steady. "I'm not here for adultery. This case... is for attempted murder."