But then came the soup incident.
It had been a terrible day. I had just wrapped a client pitch that drained every ounce of energy from me but also left me with a quiet sense of pride.
I hadn’t moved from my desk for hours, so when I finally closed my laptop, I craved something warm, something familiar. I poured myself a bowl of lentil soup that I’d made earlier, it was exactly what I needed when I craved comfort.
I carried the bowl carefully to the kitchen tabl when Gloria barged in like a squall.
“If you don’t work, Hope, you don’t eat!” she said.
The sound was louder than I expected. Soup splattered across the tile, a chaotic burst of orange and steam. The smell of cumin and garlic filled the air, clinging to the walls.
I just stood there, staring at the mess. My favorite ceramic bowl, now in pieces.
Gloria gasped at me, chest heaving, her face changed in self-righteous fury. She looked like she believed she’d done something noble.
And something in me… stilled. I didn’t yell. Instead, I locked eyes with her and smiled.
“Get out of my house, Gloria.”
She blinked, stunned.
