Breakfast For One

Sitting at the table, boiled egg in front of her, Michaela carried on a one-sided conversation with said egg: “So, where is he? Where’s the handsome, witty, intelligent, honest, industrious, besotted husband who should be sitting across the table from me? Where are the little boy and his sister? They should be sitting here as well, squabbling over the jam jar. This isn’t what I pictured my life to be at twenty-eight, or even at twenty-five, for that matter. You know something? You are no help!” She dashed some salt on her silent partner, ground some fresh pepper and added a dab of butter. Four spoonfuls into her mouth, and there was nothing left but the shell.
Little did she know that she had been working, for almost a year, with the man of her dreams.