15. Chapter 15 Burnt Lasagna & Guilt
Jenna: November
I’m back from the store, groceries half-unpacked, staring at the timer on the oven while heat swirls like a furnace. I’m making Jacob’s favorite—lasagna. Maybe it’ll erase that kiss with Dylan. Lasagna’s the ultimate apology for infidelity, right?
Solid plan, Jenna.
The usual disaster surrounds me—fridge open, sink running, groceries scattered everywhere. Another podcast about healing and trauma hums in the background while I aggressively chop salad.
Then, I smell it. Smoke.
“Oh, shit—no, no, no!” I fling open the oven, and a cloud of black smoke slaps me in the face as the alarm blares.
Ava starts yelling, while Lily clamps her hands over her ears.
“Of course,” Jacob mutters, walking in just in time to witness the shitshow.
I turn to him holding a charred lasagna, trying to ignore the disappointed look on his face. “I tried,” I say, panicking. “I got a little distracted—”
“Whatever. Doesn’t matter. I’m used to your messes.” He grabs a towel, swatting the smoke alarm. “Maybe if you didn’t waste time listening to silly podcasts and reading books you think will change your life.” He shakes his head. “Let’s order takeout. Again.”
Everything I do is silly to him. My books. My music. My dreams. Nothing’s ever right. The guilt crashes over me, sharp as glass. I tried to do something nice. Instead, I screwed it up.
My stomach twists. I think about Dylan and how far I let things go. This isn’t just about burnt lasagna. I’m screwing up more than dinner these days. I want to scream at the mess I’ve made of everything. But I don’t. I just stand here, watching Jacob scroll through takeout options.
“I’ll clean up,” I mumble.
But the smell of burnt cheese and unresolved tension lingers in the air. Every time I burn food, forget my keys, or break something, Jacob’s annoyance with me seems to grow.
The doorbell rings, and I practically bolt for the distraction. My mom waltzes in wearing a flowy floral dress, arms full of bags. “Hey, Jasper took me shopping, and I just couldn’t help myself.”
The girls rush in from the kitchen, and my mother scoops them into gorilla hugs.
“Jasper sounds… interesting,” I say, arching a brow.
“Be nice,” Jacob steps in, and greets her with a kiss.
“What happened to Kris?” I tease. “Or was it Fabio? I can’t keep up anymore.”
“Oh, Jinxy, who cares about them?” She laughs. “I’ve got stories! Now, where’s the vodka?” She heads straight for the liquor cabinet.
“I’ll go pick up food,” Jacob says, grabbing the keys, as the girls follow him out.
I find my mom in the kitchen with a drink already in hand, smiling at whatever’s on her phone. Watching her, so carefree and confident, I forget she’s the same woman who once feared my father and the world.
And me? I barely know who I am anymore.
“Spit it out. What’s going on with you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes, sinking down across from her.
“Well,” she leans forward, her necklace clinking against the table, “I had this dream. Almost like a psychic vision.” Her excitement is practically buzzing. “You met a blonde woman and told Jacob you were leaving him.”
I burst out laughing. “Last week, you thought I was moving to Mexico. Now I’m leaving my husband for a woman. You sure I’m not adopted?”
She gives me a piercing look. “Stop it. Don’t act like I’m crazy. You know my dreams always mean something. Maybe Jacob isn’t right for you.”
That wipes the smile off my face. “Not right for me? How many drinks have you had? You’re always telling me how perfect Jacob is.”
“He is perfect.” She shrugs. “Doesn’t mean he’s perfect for you. I have eyes. I see things.”
Her words hang like a storm cloud.
“I stayed with your father longer than I should have. Hoping he’d change and step up for us. I stayed for you . And he left anyway. Best thing that happened. Now, I have fun with men. But I’m always the one who lets them go. I won’t lose myself again, and I don’t want that for you either.”
Memories I’ve buried creep in. The last image of my father on my thirteenth birthday. I hid in my closet as my parents screamed, my father’s voice echoing through the walls. I’m sick of hearing you complain about my drinking… I'm sick of all of this… I’m done!
The door slammed. Footsteps faded. Each step confirmed what I knew was coming. I waited for him to come back. I wished and prayed he still loved me. I was stupid. So stupid.
“Why? Why haven’t you told me any of this?” I ask, my voice cracking slightly. “I knew you were using men to avoid getting hurt, but is that really how you want to live? Never opening your heart?”
She smiles, unfazed, like she hasn’t just ripped open old wounds.
“And Jacob and I… he’s…” The words catch in my throat. What the hell is he?
“Wrong for you,” my mom says simply.
“No, Mom,” I snap. “He’s a great father and husband. And I’m not you.”
I swore I wouldn’t put my kids through the same shit. No absent father. No strange men paying the bills. No instability. No struggling to get by. I want more for them.
Her expression softens. “We’re not as different as you think,” she murmurs. “You’re strong. Independent. Always taking care of everyone around you. Maybe it’s time you take care of yourself.”
Her words twist in my chest, just as Jacob and the girls walk in, the smell of pizza trailing behind them.
“Daddy said we can have ice cream after dinner,” Lily cries out, bolting at me.
I lift her up and hug her tightly. “Okay, okay. I love you, you know that?” I kiss her all over. “Like I love you so, so much. More than ice cream and tacos.”
She scrunches her little nose. “I know, you say it all the time. Now go kiss Daddy instead.”
Right, because he's the only man I should be kissing.
That night, Lily’s already fast asleep in her bed. I lie beside Ava, her warm body pressed to mine, and the soft glow of the star lamp floating around us.
Ava looks at me with Jacob’s deep brown eyes. “Mommy?” Her voice is soft, hesitant. “Are you and Daddy happy?”
My heart twists as my fingers toy with my wedding ring. “Why do you ask, sweetie?”
She turns to face me, her brows raised. “You don’t really laugh like you used to. But you laugh more with us. And you kiss us so much, but not Daddy.”
Kids—brutally honest. No sugarcoating. Ava may only be eight. But sometimes she feels wiser than most adults I know. And she’s right. Jacob and I don’t laugh. We barely talk. Not like we used to.
Tears sting my eyes. “Sometimes grown-ups get busy. But that doesn’t mean they’ve stopped loving each other,” I whisper.
She studies me like she’s not buying it. “Are you happy, Mommy?”
I swallow hard. Why does everyone keep asking me that damn question?
I brush her hair from her face. Then I choose my words carefully. Kids soak in everything like a sponge. “I am happy… because I’m the luckiest mom and I have you. Now go to sleep.”
Within seconds, she’s out like a light in my arms. I wipe my eyes and wonder how on earth an eight-year-old can see the cracks in my marriage I keep ignoring.
My mind starts to drift in a million different directions, including to the men in my life. Jacob, Dylan, Ryan… my father. Maybe my mom’s onto something. Men complicate things. Life would be so much simpler if I used them like playthings, focused on my career and my daughters.
Then my phone lights up.
Dylan: Hey, beautiful, have you decided? My sister’s driving me nuts, even though they don’t have a set date.
Fuck, I have not. My emotions are all over the place. About him. About the wedding. About everything. Another text pops up.
Dylan: And c an I kiss you? Again and again? That can’t be our last kiss.
My heart stops. I glance at Ava, her words lingering. Are you and Daddy happy?
I sigh and grab her Magic 8-Ball from the nightstand. It was a gift from my mom. She likes to use one for her own questionable life choices.
Will Dylan ruin my life? I groan, flipping it over.
Shake. Shake.
Outlook not so good. Figures.
I toss it back, ignoring the ridiculous sting of disappointment, and type out my response.
Me: I can’t. She should find someone more qualified than me…
Me: And we should stop this.
My chest clenches, waiting for his reply.
Dylan: I don’t know how to stop this anymore. Truth is, I don’t want to. Once you get a taste—once you wake up and finally know what you want—it’s dangerous. Because you can’t go back. And the right thing? It’ll never feel right again. So, if you choose wrong, just be ready to live with it.
I leave Ava’s room and crawl into my bed without replying, praying that clarity comes by morning.
It doesn’t.
Instead, I wake up in a cold sweat.
Blood. Screams. I'm falling off that damn bridge again, clawing at the air, desperate to hold onto something—anything. But there's nothing. Just the icy rush of water dragging me down.
Even awake, I carry the weight of the suffocating fear that I’ll never escape.
When will these dreams stop? And why do they feel so real? I should talk to someone. Get it all out. But the thought of opening up makes me cringe. What if they think I’m crazy?
Half asleep, just as the sun begins to rise, I tiptoe into the office.
I reach for the bottom drawer of my desk and pull out my journal that’s hidden inside an old cookbook.
The pages are worn out, untouched for years.
But today, I feel compelled to open it. Looking at them feels like stepping into a time machine. Another lifetime. Another me.
September 2006: Ryan looked at me today like I was nothing.
He never hit me or anything. But sometimes I wish he had.
Maybe it would’ve hurt less than his words.
What if he’s right? What if I am nothing?
Maybe that’s why my dad left, why my mom barely notices me.
Maybe I have superpowers, and I’m invisible.
I could leave this place and no one would ever know…
The words begin to blur—not from time, but from the tears splashing onto the page, bleeding into the ink. I blink. More tears fall. Silent. Relentless.
I open a blank page in my journal. And for the first time in years, I reach for my pen.
Where do I begin? Am I still that girl who was hurt, haunted, unsure? Who the hell am I now? My fingers tighten around the pen, and then word by word, I let it all out. Raw and unfiltered.
Twenty years later, and I still feel lost. Still unloved.
And Jacob’s words tonight brought it all back.
Every hurtful remark. Every reminder of how small I used to feel.
I thought I’d buried my past. But it’s still here, refusing to let go.
The pain. The self-doubt. The same heavy weight pressing down on me like it never left.
Invisible to everyone else. But crushing me all the same.
As the tears fall, so do the words spilling onto the page like a river. But with every sentence, I feel a little lighter. Maybe I need this. Maybe I should do this more often. Maybe for once, I should stop hiding.