devoured and praised like a culinary king. On the fourth night, just as he was raising a glass to “proper home-cooked food,” Matilda revealed the truth: every meal that week had been recycled leftovers, creatively repackaged. Raymond turned purple. Furious. Exposed. Colleen stood silently, watching. The next day, Matilda helped her pack his things. They changed the locks. When he returned
, yelling on the porch, Colleen—shaking but firm—told him to leave. It was her late husband’s home, and she was taking it back. Months later, Raymond called, begging to make amends. He offered to cook dinner. Colleen just smiled through the phone. “I’ve already got plans,” she said. “I’m having lasagna. Same one I made yesterday. Still delicious.” Because dignity, like lasagna, is always better the second time around.