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.

me!" I said, though I wasn't

was the pasta. The boiling water bubbled aggressively,

the spaghetti in all at

grumbled, pushing the stiff

the counter and my arm. "Ow!

phone. The recipe said eight minutes for al dente, but I couldn't tell if the spaghetti was cooking

with me. The smell of smoke hit my nose, and I

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

smoke alarm blared, loud and piercing,

closer now. She was coming

a dish towel under the smoke detector to silence

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

"What's

the chaos. "I'm cooking.

over, the egg yolks dripping onto the counter.

husband, huh?" she said, crossing her arms.

under control," I insisted, though

over to the stove, peeking into the pot of

doubt me," I said, grabbing a whisk to mix the egg yolks with the grated cheese. "I've got a vision. It's just...

counter, clearly amused. "You know, I

This is your

didn't argue, taking a seat at the kitchen table. "Alright, Chef

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

carbonara with a flourish, sprinkling parsley on top for good measure. "Voilà," I

of noodles. "Let's

heart pounding like I was awaiting a Michelin star review. Her

asked, relief flooding

the bacon's a little... well-done. But

there."