The Mac & Cheese and the Word That Broke Me
After the stillbirth, food stopped tasting like anything. Eating became mechanical — until I found one thing I could tolerate: a cheap frozen mac and cheese with powdered cheese. Garbage, really. But it was the only thing that didn’t make me nauseous.
I labeled it in the freezer.
Then I looked Violet in the eye.
“Please don’t touch this,” I said. “It’s the only thing I can eat right now.”
Two days later, I opened the freezer.
It was gone.
The empty silver tray sat in the trash, cheese residue dried on the edges like proof of betrayal.
By the time Victor came home, my anger had calcified.
“She ate it,” I said, without greeting. “The one thing I asked her not to touch.”
He shrugged. “Ruby, it’s just food. She’s pregnant. She probably needed it.”
“It’s not just food,” I snapped. “It was the only thing I could stomach. I begged her not to eat it.”
He rubbed his temples like I was the problem.
“Life is about sacrifices,” he said. “Can’t you be less selfish for once?”
That word slammed into me: selfish.
Selfish for wanting my own food. My own house. My own grief.
I stared at him, my voice going ice-cold.
“You and your sister are the nightmare roommates people rant about on Reddit.”
He didn’t laugh. He just looked… annoyed.
And then came the baby shower.
Violet planned it without asking me. Invitations sent. Decorations ordered. Soon my house was full of strangers laying their coats on my furniture and balancing drinks on my counters like it was their place.
I wanted to lock myself in my bedroom, but Victor squeezed my hand.
“Please, Ruby,” he whispered. “This is important for Violet. And for you two. You’ll regret it if you don’t try.”
So I stayed. I poured punch. I smiled until my cheeks hurt. I clapped as she opened gifts, while balloons bobbed above the place I once pictured my own baby shower.
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