“Will Mum be coming? Cancel it! My ex is coming over!”
Elizabeth stood at the stove as the rich scent of roasted meat and herbs filled the kitchen. It was one of those rare evenings when she had time to cook something more elaborate than scrambled eggs. She wiped her brow with a sigh and turned around, calling out:
“Edward, do you remember my mother’s visiting tomorrow?”
A few seconds later, he appeared in the doorway—dishevelled, his eyes still heavy with sleep.
“What mother?” Edward squinted. “Did you tell me?”
“Yes! Days ago!” Elizabeth frowned. “We agreed she’d come on Sunday.”
Edward suddenly tensed, swallowing hard before blurting out:
“Cancel it. She can’t come tomorrow. No way.”
“And why on earth not?” Elizabeth’s voice sharpened.
“Because… Katie’s coming.”
“Katie? Who the hell is Katie?”
“…My ex,” he exhaled.
The room fell into stunned silence. Then Elizabeth coughed—half choking, unsure whether to laugh or scream.
“You’re joking, right? You want your ex staying here, on the exact day my mother arrives?”
“It’s not like that! She’s not *staying*—just a night or two! She had a row with her bloke, nowhere else to go. Honestly, it’s nothing! We split ages ago—you know that! She’s just in a bind!”
“Have you *thought* how this looks? Mum walks in, and there’s your ‘old friend’ lounging about. Perfect first impression!”
“We’ll say she’s *your* friend. You’re an actress—sell it!”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but already, her mind played out the scene: Katie swanning in, calling her “the missus” the second they met. It was absurd. Irritating. But… oddly intriguing.
That evening, the doorbell rang. Katie stood on the doorstep—tall, poised, a sleek haircut and designer handbag completing the picture. Her gaze swept over Elizabeth, appraising.
“Ah. So you’re the wife?” A smirk. “Relax—just crashing a night or two. Won’t steal your husband.”
Elizabeth clenched her jaw. “First door on the right. And my mum’s here tomorrow—make yourself scarce.”
Katie breezed past as Elizabeth returned to the kitchen, where supper was cooling.
“Dinner, Katie?”
“Wouldn’t say no. Wait—is that pie? Please don’t tell me it’s homemade. Smells like shop-bought pastry and jam.”
“You’re welcome to skip it,” Elizabeth shot back, though her lips twitched.
Katie, unfazed, suddenly grinned. “Tell you what—want me to teach you proper baking? My nan was a chef. Grew up in kitchens.”
And just like that, the evening unfolded—laughter, shared recipes, even fashion talk. By midnight, they gossiped like old mates. For the first time, Elizabeth felt more than just “the wife.” She felt… captivating.
Katie wasn’t the enemy. She was an ally.
Morning came. Katie left for work just as the doorbell chimed—Elizabeth’s mother, Margaret. The aroma of slow-roasted beef stopped her dead.
“You cooked this?” Margaret’s eyes widened. “Since when?”
Elizabeth only nodded, pride simmering. She knew who to thank.
Later, Katie called.
“Liz, I’m home. Made up with Mark—he was *stunned* at the gala. Said I’m his new lucky charm. Even signed the contract. Cheers for the dress tips. P.S.—You’re brilliant. Be round tomorrow for my things. Hugs!”
Elizabeth hung up, turning to Edward.
“You were right. She’s… lovely. And—maybe I see myself clearer now. Not just a wife. A woman who’s got something to give.”
“If you’re *friends* with Katie now, the world’s gone mad,” Edward muttered.
“Just don’t meddle,” Elizabeth smiled, “and it’ll all work out.”
