Hildegarde had just lifted her coffee to her lips. She spat it out in a spray, eyes wide as she stared at Marjorie. "That bastard said... he said he's not coming back?"
"Yes, absolutely. That's exactly what Mr. Dickerson said. Ma'am, did you two have a fight?"
Marjorie had been off yesterday for the girls' birthday party. She had no idea what had happened between them.
"Mind your own business!"
Hildegarde shot her a glare.
Her fingers tightened around the coffee cup until her knuckles went white.
"Not coming back? Hmph. I hope you mean it!"
"Without me, Wilfred, do you really think you can survive?"
When they were together, Wilfred had cupped her face in his hands more than once and told her she was the love of his life, that she was his everything.
And now he wanted to leave her?
Could he really let go?
For breakfast, Wilfred made his daughter Penelope's favorite—vegetable and egg noodles.
She took after him when it came to taste.
They both loved noodles.
Hildegarde and Hilary, on the other hand, couldn't stand them.
Back when they lived at the Pruitt estate, Hildegarde had forbidden him from cooking noodles. Once, when Penelope had begged for a bowl of his vegetable egg noodles, he'd secretly made one for her. But Hildegarde and her mother Rosemary Dickerson had walked in right as he set it down. The looks on their faces could have curdled milk.
His mother-in-law had ignored Penelope's sobs and dumped the entire bowl straight into the trash.
Then she'd jabbed a finger in his face and called it street-stall garbage, warning him never to make such low-class slop again.
It would drag down the family's standards, she'd said.
"Daddy, can you make me noodles every morning from now on?"
Watching his daughter slurp down her breakfast, Wilfred smiled. "Of course. Whatever you want to eat, I'll make it."
"Then after school, can you take me for fried chicken?"
Penelope's eyes sparkled with longing.
"Sure."
After breakfast, Wilfred drove her to the preschool.
At the gates, he spotted the Land Cruiser the Pruitt family's nanny drove.
It was almost laughable, really. Hildegarde had bought the help a luxury SUV worth a small fortune—just for grocery runs and school pickups—while treating her own husband like an afterthought. He'd never been allowed to touch any of the family cars. In the end, his mother had taken pity on him and bought him a Range Rover so he wouldn't have to rely on rideshares.