hardened.
“
in my kitchen and told me you planned to take my husband.”
The laughter stopped.
Irvin walked over and put his arm around me.
“Claire’s right. Stop calling me for things around your house.”
We went home.
I thought that was the end.
It wasn’t.
Soon, complaints began appearing. Then an official letter arrived saying my home bakery had to stop operating because the converted garage had never received final approval for commercial use.
I had permits and had passed inspections, but the garage itself had a paperwork problem.
Vanessa had found a real weakness.
I had wedding cakes and corporate orders scheduled, and suddenly my ovens were useless.
That evening, Vanessa appeared at our door with a bottle of wine.
“Tell everyone you lied,” she said. “Apologize publicly, and I’ll stop.”
“No,” I said.
“You have until tomorrow.”
She left.
Irvin and I argued that night.
She was
