The Unplanned Detour

The heat from the oven stung as you pulled your hand back, the worn mitten useless against the burn. Another casualty in your quest to make John's favorite baked potatoes.

"Did you hurt yourself, Miss?" Dahlia's gentle voice broke through your pain.

"Oh, it's just a little burn," you replied, though your expression clearly showed the sting. Dahlia, your kind housekeeper and confidante, quickly found honey – her mother's old remedy – and carefully applied it to your hand. The cool sweetness offered a small comfort.

Lost in thoughts of John and your upcoming wedding, you packed the food, told Dahlia you wouldn't be back, and stepped out into the cool night air. The dark blue sky, sprinkled with stars, mirrored the romantic anticipation bubbling inside you.

A taxi ride, a call about wedding decorations, and finally, you arrived at John's house. Lights were on, signaling he was awake. Excitement fluttered in your chest. You entered, bento box in hand, ready to surprise him with his favorite meal, ready to share your joy. But as you quietly pushed open his bedroom door, the perfect image in your mind shattered into a million pieces.