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

next hurdle was the pasta. The boiling water bubbled aggressively, and I realized I hadn't even opened the box

cardboard tab, I poured the spaghetti in all at once, some of it sticking out of the pot like

pushing the stiff

splashing hot water onto the counter

the timer on my phone. The recipe said eight minutes for al dente, but I couldn't tell if the

pot, the bacon grease caught up with me. The smell of smoke hit my nose, and I spun around to see

no!" I yelped, grabbing the handle and moving

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

Sarah's voice was closer now. She

waving a dish towel under the smoke

appeared in the doorway, her hands on her hips and a smirk tugging at

mouth. "What's going on

"I'm cooking. For you. Because I'm

egg yolks dripping onto the counter. She tried to hold back a

husband, huh?" she said, crossing her arms. "Looks like you're waging war on

though we both knew

over to the stove, peeking into the pot of spaghetti. "Are you sure about

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

against the counter, clearly

Relax. This is

argue, taking a seat at the kitchen table. "Alright, Chef Richard. Impress

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

for good

a forkful of noodles. "Let's see if it tastes as

pounding like I was awaiting a Michelin

relief flooding through

mean, the bacon's

there."