Marie Couvins can’t bake cookies to save her life.

But I can’t tell her that, it would break her heart. So every two days when she comes into the dry cleaners place where I work, I take the burnt cookies with a smile.

Today was different. Today Marie brought no cookies. Just a terrifying silence. I attempted to make any sort of communication but was met with a dry response.

Okay then. Sounds good Marie. I suppose I will have no cookies today. Doesn’t hurt me. Though I typically take a bite when she is here to see her satisfied.

I take the coat from Marie’s hands and bring it to the back. I hear the bell on the door ding and know that she has left. Per usual I check the pockets of the items to be sure nothing will be lost. I reach my hand in and feel two plastic bags. I pull my hand out and find two ziploc bags, one with three terribly burnt cookies, and one with three beautiful cookies.

I run out of the dry cleaners.

I see Marie down the street and call out to her.

“Marie!”

She turns and walks over

“What are these?” I ask with a accusing tone.

“Cookies.”

“No, really?! I mean why have you been given me burnt cookies when you made these beautiful ones?”

She looks at me confused

“You were the only one who seemed to like them. So when I got good at making cookies, I saved the bad ones for you.”

I walk away flabbergasted.

(Sorry, this one was kinda silly😂”