Merry Christmas, Ex-Husband

The kitchen smelled like rosemary and burnt dreams.

I pressed the fresh bandage against my thumb, the third burn mark I'd collected in two days of Christmas preparations. The turkey sat golden in the oven, its skin crackling with promise, while I stirred the cranberry sauce with my uninjured hand. Steam rose from the pot, fogging my glasses and making the world blur around the edges.

"Clara!" Mother Helen's voice cut through the kitchen like a blade. "This gravy is too thick. And why does the stuffing smell like sage? I specifically said no sage."

I bit back my response, focusing instead on the rhythmic motion of stirring. The wooden spoon felt heavy in my grip, my shoulders aching from hours bent over the stove. "I'll thin the gravy, Mother Helen. The stuffing—"

"Should have been made my way from the beginning." Her sharp eyes surveyed my work with the precision of a food critic. "Lucas deserves better than this amateur hour."

The front door slammed, followed by the familiar sound of Lucas's laugh—but not alone. A higher, musical giggle accompanied it, sending ice through my veins despite the kitchen's warmth.

"We're home!" Lucas called out, his voice carrying that particular brightness he reserved for special occasions. Or special people.

I wiped my hands on my apron, the fabric stained with two days of cooking battles, and stepped into the hallway. Lucas stood there in his charcoal wool coat, snowflakes melting in his dark hair, looking like something from a holiday catalog. Beside him stood a vision in cream cashmere and red lipstick—Bella, his stepsister, though the way she clung to his arm suggested nothing familial about their relationship.

"Clara," Lucas said, his nose wrinkling slightly as I approached. "You smell like... cooking."

The words hit me like a slap. Two days. Two days I'd spent crafting his perfect Christmas dinner, burning my fingers on his favorite dishes, and he recoiled from the evidence of my effort.

"I've been in the kitchen," I said quietly, suddenly aware of the grease stain on my sweater, the flour dusting my sleeves.

"Obviously." Bella's voice was honey over glass. "Lucas, maybe we should give Clara some space to... freshen up before dinner?"

She said it with such practiced concern, her manicured hand still resting on Lucas's forearm. The diamond bracelet on her wrist caught the hallway light—a bracelet I'd never seen before, though something about its elegance seemed familiar.

"Good idea." Lucas shrugged out of his coat, not meeting my eyes. "The smell is pretty overwhelming."

Mother Helen appeared from the living room, her face transforming from disapproval to delight at the sight of Bella. "Oh, my dear! You look absolutely radiant. Doesn't she, Lucas?"

"Beautiful as always." His voice carried a warmth that hadn't touched our conversations in months.

I watched them move into the living room like a choreographed dance, Bella's laughter tinkling as Lucas helped her with her coat. The cashmere slipped away to reveal a dress that probably cost