Lela
Lela sat at her porcelain clad vanity, studying the woman in front of her. Silent tears escaped her eyes and she hastily wiped them away. Almost angry they had appeared at all. Not today, she thought. Glancing at the looming clock above her, she sighed and acknowledged he would be home soon. There was only one hour remaining to prepare for his arrival. She needed to check on the pot pie in the oven. Her mind drifted back to simpler times. The first time she made her Grandmother’s chicken pot pie for him. They had just moved in together, and she was excited to treat her man to the delicious meal. She beamed across the table as he ooo’d and ahh’d, praising her talent, thanking her for spoiling him as she did. Back then, it was a pleasure to take care of her man. Now, it was a chore. A demand. And she hated having to make the dish when he requested it. It was a slap in the face to her precious memory of them. Before things changed. Before he changed.
