Reunion with My Billionaire Ex

Home in my heart

Home in my heart

Maurice's POV,

I kicked and punched the pillows and the mattress and the sheets. I kicked and kicked, punched and punched, till my heart feels better, till I have the strength in my drained knees to stand up once again, to get out of bed and make myself some waffles.

Waffles. How can I still think about waffles?

Strawberry waffles. Dad made it for me on my seventeenth birthday. He stacked three perfectly round crispy waffles and a lot of whipped cream and strawberries on the top. And on the inside they were drenched in delicious maple syrup, and a sparkling candle burned over it. That’s how they entered my room. My mom and my dad. It wasn’t the best, nothing like those Tiffany makes, but certainly the prettiest. He knew my love for chocolate chips. He made it with his own hands, and that’s why I still can never forget the way they tasted in my mouth. He wouldn't agree that he took a little help from our broody yet amazing baker, Tiffany, but I knew there had to be someone behind it. He never even goes near the kitchen. He is allergic to heat, smoke, and where any normal kitchen would have; how would he make those perfect rounds?

I've been trying to recreate it on every birthday since, but I can only conclude that I might be just as bad as dad is in this art. Though I'm alone at the table every time I try to cook it for myself. It still makes me feel like they are here, with me. Clapping and singing me the birthday song sitting in front of me as I sliced through it. They would try to guess what I've wished for this year and buy that for me. The old them, when we were living the normal life of occasional bickers and misunderstandings and lots of love and security. My dashing dad and my splendid mother.

I wished again today, hoping for a miracle that candle can accomplish for me, to have that family again. A happy one of my own, to love and to cherish.

My eighteenth birthday was horrible. I barely made enough money after working three jobs to feed myself a full meal, all those happy, delighting flavors that I can enjoy now. I had little to nothing left after paying my mom’s medical bills. And no matter what I eat, I was always hungry. I just became shameless; all I prioritized was earning as must as I could in a day. Did even the dirtiest things. I cleaned filthy public toilets, got ranted over by rude customers hosting the tables, even scrubbed dirty dishes in the restaurants, and toilets in the parties, one I could never forget, it was hosted by my old friends in their large mansion, when my ex-boyfriend was enjoying and partying right outside where I was laboring, not knowing what I've been going through. Or maybe he knew all about it but never bother to know the reason I left him. I've never felt so humiliated and burned. Nothing can compare to the filth I felt when he looked at me with pity and deceit. Or maybe it was the hatred I saw possessing his eyes, or regret that he ever loved me. Like I was the pauper, and he was the handsome prince. We were no longer on the same level. In just a night, he rose above me.

I left the city that night and never looked back since. Neither at him or my life of filth and pity there.

That’s a lie. I think about him every day of my life.

I was alone in my apartment, still drenched in a scent that consumed over me, the one I don’t recognize as mine, probably the unique concoction of Ricky, burning candles, and the fresh strawberries. Slicing my birthday waffles, blowing my candles, I felt something I didn’t know went foreign to me, warmth; it was taking over me and all I did was smile. I bought these candy cane-looking ones, with red and white strips, like it was a festival. Even I felt the need to make a wish. It tastes heavenly, the waffles.

Hm… I like this limited-edition Pillsbury waffle mix. Well, I'll like anything as long as it has sugar in it, but this is great too, maybe because of the additional sweetened syrup, or the strawberry quenching the overpowering sweetness of the whipped cream. It’s just how I remembered, fluffy and crispy, sweet and sour. It’s like the nearest I could ever make to the ones tiffany used to prepare. And looking back again today, it didn’t make me sad, nor did I feel like something was missing in my life. I felt content; I felt fulfilled; I felt like this was exactly what I needed. After that, I felt quiet, Like I had no thoughts. No ideas. This is exactly what I craved, like the long turmoil is finally ending. My life will finally go just as I wanted from here on. This is what I was destined to do, to celebrate my birthdays alone, and I know I deserve it.