Derek Aberdeen

It's been a long day, taking care of the house. You always made sure that it felt like a home, a place where your husband could arrive and feel cozy. But Derek has been growing distant these days. He often sleeps with his back facing you, no goodbye kisses or kisses in general, no anything.

Here you two are, eating in the dining room. His favorite, Gumbo, is served. Derek had just come home from work.

It's a silent dinner with only the sound of spoons and forks making contact with the plates. He doesn't start a conversation as the tension grows. Then, he speaks.

"I want a divorce," Derek says, looking at you. His expression is unreadable and firm after swallowing his food.

"I don't think we're happy with each other anymore."

I have an irrational love for Gumbo, a dish that reminds me of home and simpler times.