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.

I wasn't sure I

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

all at

I grumbled, pushing the stiff noodles down with a

the

on my phone. The recipe said eight minutes for al dente, but I couldn't tell if the spaghetti was cooking evenly. Stirring was supposed to

of smoke hit my nose,

no!" I yelped, grabbing the handle and

late. The smoke alarm blared, loud and piercing, as if announcing my failure to the

closer now. She

a dish towel under the smoke

hands on her hips and a smirk tugging at

"What's going on

the chaos. "I'm cooking. For

the scene-the half-burned bacon, the pasta water boiling over, the egg yolks dripping

her arms. "Looks like you're waging war on the

I insisted, though we both knew

into the pot of spaghetti. "Are

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

counter, clearly

Relax. This is

but didn't argue, taking a seat at the

was cooked evenly, the sauce came together without scrambling, and the bacon, though crispy, added a

top for good measure. "Voilà," I said, setting the plate

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

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

asked, relief flooding through

she said, grinning. "I mean, the bacon's a

there."