Storytelling Saturdays: Thirty Days

The roast was almost ready when Danielle set the table. She placed the last fork carefully beside the plate, stepping back to admire the setting. Two candles burned with steady flames that gave the room a warm glow. She smoothed the front of her dress and looked around. Everything felt right, perfect even.

She had spent the past two weeks walking on air, the secret burning inside her like a hidden sunrise. The lottery ticket was tucked deep in her Bible, waiting. The letter from the state said the funds would be deposited soon. Every morning she woke with joy swelling in her chest. She wanted tonight to be the beginning of something new, a chance to show Marcus that their waiting, their struggle, was about to be over.

The key turned in the door. Danielle’s heart gave a little leap.

“Baby, you’re just in time,” she called, checking the roast one last time.

Marcus stepped into the dining room. Not alone.

Behind him was a woman Danielle had never seen before. Younger, with braids that shimmered in the candlelight, lips painted a deep red. She smelled faintly of lilac and smoke.

Danielle froze, hands still on the oven mitts.

Marcus cleared his throat, his voice unnervingly calm. “Danielle, we need to talk.”

She looked from him to the stranger and back again. “What is this?”

The woman shifted uneasily, glancing at Marcus as if for permission.

“Danielle,” Marcus began, straightening his shoulders, “this is Kiana. She is with me now.”

Danielle blinked, her breath caught in her chest. The table between them seemed to stretch into miles.

Kiana started to speak, her voice soft, almost apologetic. “I didn’t mean—”

Marcus cut her off sharply, without turning his eyes from Danielle. “Kiana. Quiet.”

The word landed like a slap. The younger woman lowered her gaze and said nothing more.

Marcus exhaled, drawing out the silence. Then he leaned on the back of the dining chair, looking at Danielle as though she were an employee he needed to dismiss.

“I cannot keep living this lie. You and me, we have been going through the motions for years. I do not feel it anymore. I tried, Lord knows I tried, but it is not there. And I will not waste the rest of my life pretending.”

Danielle’s hand tightened around the mitts. Her mouth went dry.

“I have filed the papers,” he continued, pulling an envelope from inside his jacket. He set it down on her grandmother’s china plate, right where she had imagined he would see the roast, the candles, the love she had poured into this evening. “You have thirty days to leave the house. I will cover the mortgage until then. After that, you will need to figure things out.”

The words settled heavy in the air, final as the slam of a door.

Danielle did not move. Her eyes drifted to the envelope, then back to Marcus. His face was stern, resolved. She saw the line of his jaw, the slight impatience in his eyes. He was already somewhere else, already with her.

She thought about all the months he had dragged himself in after midnight, shoulders sagging, boots dirty from construction sites, the smell of metal and sweat clinging to him. The double shifts had worn him thin, but he had kept at it, desperate to keep their lights on and food on the table. She had seen the callouses deepen on his hands, heard the way he winced when he lowered himself into bed. And through it all, she had held on, believing the hard times would pass, believing that when they finally caught a break, they would catch it together.

Kiana shifted again, as if the silence made her skin itch. But Marcus gave her a look that pinned her in place.

Danielle felt the world tilt beneath her feet. All week she had imagined him walking through that door, imagined his face lighting with joy when she told him what she had done, what they had won. She had imagined laughter and relief, his arms around her, their future unfurling bright and wide.

Instead, he had brought her here. Into their home. Into Danielle’s kitchen, where she had spent years cooking meals, packing lunches, holding the family together with her two hands.

Her chest ached, but she swallowed it down. She would not let him see her break.

“Thirty days,” she repeated softly.

Marcus nodded. “I think that is fair.”

She wanted to scream, to throw the roast against the wall, to ask how long, how dare you, who is she. But her voice betrayed none of it. She slid the mitts off her hands and placed them carefully on the counter.

“Then I suppose you should go,” she said evenly.

Marcus blinked, as though he had expected a storm. Kiana looked at her with something almost like shame, but Danielle did not return the gaze.

Without another word, Marcus picked up the envelope and pressed it toward her. She did not reach for it. He set it back down on the plate, an uninvited offering.

“Thirty days,” he said again, more quietly this time, before guiding Kiana out of the room.

The door shut.

Silence poured in, heavy and suffocating. Danielle stood at the counter, staring at the flickering candles. The roast sat on the table, steam fading into the air.

She drew a deep breath, her chest rising, and finally sat down at the table. She pulled the plate toward her, moved the envelope aside without touching it, and carved herself a slice.

The meat was tender, perfectly done.

She ate slowly, alone, candlelight reflecting in her eyes.

In her mind she saw the ticket tucked in her Bible, safe and certain, the promise of a future he would never share. The funds would arrive soon.

Thirty days was plenty.

For the first time in years, Danielle realized, she had something Marcus could never take away.

And she would keep that secret to herself.

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