Winning Back His Ex's Wife's Broken Heart by Hayley

Richard pov.

That morning, I woke up with a grand idea, one of those plans that felt brilliant in my head but had the potential to crash and burn in execution.

I was going to cook. Not just toast or scrambled eggs-no, I had my sights set higher. A real meal, one Sarah could enjoy without lifting a finger.

Lately, she'd been doing so much, and it didn't sit right with me. She was growing a human being inside her, for crying out loud, and still, she found time to organize the nursery, plan meals, and somehow keep the house running. The least I could do was take some of that load off her shoulders.

"Today, I'm a chef for a day," I declared to myself, pulling on an apron I'd found shoved at the back of a drawer. It had some cheesy slogan about grilling on it, but it would do.

Sarah was still upstairs, so I figured I had a solid hour before she'd come down. Enough time to whip up a feast. Or so I thought.

The first challenge was deciding what to make. My initial thought was something simple, but then I remembered her craving for Italian food.

Spaghetti carbonara sounded fancy yet manageable. Eggs, cheese, bacon, pasta-it couldn't be that hard, right?

I grabbed my phone and pulled up a recipe. "Step one: Boil water," I read aloud. Easy enough.

The trouble started when I tried to multitask. While the water heated, I thought I'd get a head start on the bacon. I threw a few slices into a pan, cranking the heat up high.

Almost immediately, the kitchen filled with the sound of sizzling and popping grease.

"Maybe not so high," I muttered, turning the burner down and dodging a flying speck of oil that narrowly missed my wrist.

The bacon, though slightly scorched, smelled amazing. Feeling confident, I moved on to cracking eggs for the sauce.

"Separate the yolks," the recipe instructed. Easier said than done. My first attempt ended with egg white dripping down my fingers and onto the counter. By the third egg, I'd managed to make a slimy mess of the entire process. "Richard?" Sarah's voice floated down from upstairs.

"Stay up there!" I shouted back, quickly wiping my hands on a dish towel. "It's a surprise!"

"A surprise or a disaster?" she called teasingly.

said, though I wasn't sure I trusted myself at

water bubbled aggressively, and I realized I hadn't even opened the

the spaghetti in all at once, some of it sticking out of the pot

I grumbled, pushing the stiff noodles down with a

slipped, splashing hot water onto the counter and my

glanced at the timer on my phone. The recipe said eight minutes for al dente,

the pot, the bacon grease caught up with me. The smell of

no, no!" I yelped, grabbing the handle and

alarm blared, loud and piercing, as if announcing my failure

was closer now. She was coming down the

I lied, waving a dish towel under the

doorway, her hands on her hips and a

mouth. "What's going on

the chaos. "I'm cooking. For you. Because I'm an amazing

scene-the half-burned bacon, the pasta water boiling over, the egg yolks dripping onto the counter. She tried to

said, crossing her arms. "Looks like

though we both

to the stove, peeking into the pot of

yolks with the grated cheese. "I've got a vision. It's just... taking longer than

clearly amused. "You know, I

This is your day off

seat at

managed to salvage the dish. The pasta was cooked evenly, the sauce came

for good measure. "Voilà," I said, setting the plate in front of

looked at it skeptically, twirling a forkful of noodles. "Let's see if it

my heart pounding like I was awaiting a Michelin star review. Her eyes lit up, and she nodded. "Not bad.

asked, relief

the

there."