“So, tell me—what do you think?” I asked the girls as they all stared down at their plates. “I think we can all agree that you really can’t cook.” Luna spat out the food back onto her plate with a dirty look on her face.
“My God, I’m hopeless.” I sighed and slammed my head against the table. “I can’t clean, I can’t cook—what can I do?”
Faith collected the girls’ plates from the table and threw away the food before she walked towards me and placed her hand on my shoulder. “You have people to do that for you—trust me, Christian doesn’t care.”
“Faith this is not something small, I couldn’t even follow a simple recipe? Don’t you think that’s sad?” I sulked at the idea of me failing to be a mom. No matter what, I couldn’t depend on maids I never even had in the first place—and wanted to do things on my own.
