As she tried to get her bearings, Ruby’s eyes landed on a display in the aisle. In the middle was a shiny red stand mixer. She wandered over to it, drawn by a sense of familiarity. The mixer almost looked like one her mother had had in the kitchen growing up, although this one was higher tech.

Suddenly, a memory came back to Ruby. She’d been eight years old, attempting to bake cookies for the first time. She’d had no idea what she was doing, and she’d immediately broken the stand mixer. After her mother had found out, she’d scolded Ruby for a solid ten minutes before taking her hand and teaching her how to bake cookies properly, from start to finish.

That single incident sparked her love of baking. Ruby grew up harboring a silly little dream of opening her own bakery, so she could share her creations with the world. That was what Ruby had loved the most about baking. For her, it was about making and sharing something that came from the heart, something real and genuine, complete with imperfections and flaws.

When had Ruby lost that love? It was one of those frivolous activities that she’d just lost interest in over time. No, that wasn’t true. She’d stopped baking because he had never approved of it. He’d never approved of her doing anything that didn’t serve his interests. He had snuffed out all Ruby’s wants and desires in favor of his own.

Ruby stared at the shiny red mixer intently. She knew exactly what she wanted to buy.

* * *

The timer on the oven dinged. Ruby opened it up and pulled out the tray of blueberry muffins, placing it on the counter next to the others. This batch looked a little overcooked, but it was better than her last attempts. It had been years since she’d done any baking, but she was slowly getting back into the rhythm of the process.

“What is going on here?”

Ruby jumped. Yvonne was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, her arms crossed.

“Yvonne,” Ruby said. “You’re home early.” It was barely 6 p.m. Yvonne was usually still at work for another hour or two.

Yvonne’s disapproving eyes swept around the room. “Why does my kitchen look like it’s been hit by a tornado?”

Her description of the state of the kitchen was accurate. The counters were covered in flour, the sink filled with pans, utensils scattered everywhere. Plus, a shiny new stand mixer took up half the counter. Ruby had planned to clean everything up before Yvonne got home.

“Well, I was thinking about what you said the other night,” Ruby began. “About doing something for myself. I wasn’t sure where to start, so I went shopping, and while I was out, I remembered that I used to like to bake. So I decided I wanted to do some baking, but you don’t own any baking stuff, so I bought some.”

She looked at Yvonne. Yvonne was staring back at her, the irritation in her eyes replaced by amusement.