Through the thick smoke of the singed egg dish, she sipped the frothy fresh orange juice. The cottage was filled with the acrid touch of burned breakfast but the juice was a lift she needed this day. She could only hope the decimated kitchen would be her lover’s final straw and he would leave.
An order from her mother, “learn to cook before he leaves you” resonated in her thoughts as she added a bit of whiskey to her fruity drink. How dare she say something like that to me, she thought. What an old fashioned idea. I am not the barefoot and pregnant type and now maybe they will both realize that. Margo sat in her now empty house and started to breathe in freedom.