And then, one spring, I met Theo.
He was gentle in a way that didn’t feel fragile. A history teacher who wore mismatched socks and told quiet, clever jokes that landed a few beats late.
One afternoon, we came home from a walk to find a whole chicken still sitting on the counter, hours past safe cooking time.
“Well,” Theo said, grinning, “guess we’re having pasta instead.”
He tossed it out without a single barb, kissed my forehead, and reached for the takeout menu.
No timer. No lecture. No shaming.
Finding Peace in the Small Things
That night, I laughed — really laughed — for the first time in years while cooking with someone else.
I realized then that it’s not the grand gestures that make a relationship safe. It’s the quiet moments. The way someone treats you when you’ve made a mistake. The way they choose kindness over control.
Now, my kitchen is my sanctuary. The smell of rosemary is sacred. And at my table, no food — and no love — gets thrown away.
The Real Reason I Left
Neil was wrong when he told people we split over a roast chicken.
I left because I’d spent too many years living by rules that weren’t mine. Because I’d been made to feel like my best efforts would never be good enough.
