The house smelled cold. Not broken, not sad—just… hushed. One of those early spring days where the wind still thinks it’s February. I hadn’t spoken …

Recipes Inspired by Martha Stewart, Cooked in Real Life
The house smelled cold. Not broken, not sad—just… hushed. One of those early spring days where the wind still thinks it’s February. I hadn’t spoken …
The noise had been steady all day. Not loud, just… constant. Emails. Dings. That hum the fridge makes when it thinks too hard. I couldn’t …
The house was quiet in that particular way it gets after someone leaves. Mae had just gone back to school. Her cereal bowl still in …
The apples were bruised. Not badly—just soft around the edges, like something that used to be crisp but got tired.Mae had left a note on …
The flour was already on the counter.I don’t remember putting it there.It was raining hard enough that the windows steamed. The dog wouldn’t stop pacing. …
I wasn’t planning on baking. The kitchen was already hot.Mae had left the measuring spoons in the sink again, crusted with something orange.And I wasn’t …
I started this one on a day that didn’t start right.The window stuck. The spoon drawer caught. Mae had already left, and I didn’t know …
Mae had a dentist appointment. I hadn’t done the dishes from two nights ago. And something in the fridge was leaking.I didn’t want to cook. …
It was muggy. the kind of afternoon that clings to your back. I wasn’t planning to grill—I wasn’t even planning to cook.but the fridge smelled …
I wasn’t hungry when I started making it.Not really. Just sort of… needing to stir.The fridge was too full and somehow still empty. Mae had …