First place short story: Piece of cake

She burst through the door and threw her scarf and coat to the floor, but meticulously draped her blazer over the chair. Her heels hit the wooden panels as she kicked them off. The sharp sound cut through the music and noises that screamed from behind the closed bedroom door. He appeared from the room. A smile cracked his face at the sight of her as she, in all her beauty and confidence, continued to drop clothes. Sweat dripped down from his brow as the efforts of his work took their toll and mixed with the fresh paint on his previously white t-shirt. The violent expression of abstract art on the paper that covered his bedroom floor had more work to do, but both knew that a break was in order. A devilish snicker escaped her lips. Without a word, she grabbed his hand and tugged him into the bedroom as he pulled the door shut.

She never smiled in her day to day life except for thrills like these. They met, by coincidence, in his corner-shop bakery late one night. She ordered a children’s cake, but he did not care. He enjoyed her fiery attitude, and she loved his passion.

One evening while they interrupted another painting session, the two performed another ‘once-around-the-apartment’, which was not too difficult considered its tiny size. He always had a cake from his bakery for the small talk afterwards; her sweet-tooth always satisfied after her libido. The craft and care he put into his baking work shown each and every time in his unique style and recognizable tendencies as his hands formed more than just art on a canvas.

She went home. Splashed paint from the dirty acts before exposed itself in odd places. Her husband called her out on it. Everything snapped into place and the husband connected the dots mid-sentence. The man’s confusion shifted to complete and utter hatred. She attempted to defend herself with a strong front of screams and shouts as both brought up events from the past with hyperbole and bottled up frustrations. They moved through the house as separate entities but always chased one another to exclaim more anger. She never stated any personal information about her lover to protect him, despite the man’s persistence and threats. She slammed the door behind her as she left.

Three knocks on the apartment door. He immediately knew something was wrong as the only knocks that happened between them were the headboard that rhythmically beat against the wall. He appeared from his apartment. The woman who normally ran through his door with raw sexual energy had been broken down to a tearful girl. Her soft side exposed to him for the first time, he had no idea what do to besides hug her tightly and give a shoulder to cry on. She collapsed in an emotional wreck onto him as he pulled the door shut. He paced back and forth as she took to the couch. Worry struck his face as sadness shaped hers.

How could she forgive herself after doing something like this for so long? She did not expect him to forgive her, but she knew that she was no longer the person her husband courted on their first date. Was this really for the worst? She considered that they may just have different priorities now and had just grown incompatible.

The man took the night to think about what had just happened. Head in hands, he played out the events in his mind over and over again. Not just of the fight itself, but of their entire marriage up to this point. Questions raced through his mind without answers. The only real conclusion that provided any sense of purpose or relief was to try and make his marriage work despite this catastrophe. The man became committed to show her that they can work through this together.

The man rehearsed what he was to say to her over and over again. Calm, cool, and relatively collected were the delivery of the lines, accompanied by some cute gifts to ease the tension a bit. Flowers, while stereotypical, might help. The man also knew of his wife’s sweet-tooth, of course, and took to a bakery she recommended in the final stop of a desperate move to try and save what once was.

Bells jingled as the man walked through his door. Fake smiles from the both of them hid the events from last night. The baker behind the counter attempted to forget the turmoil from last night as the man in front wanted to move on from it. He asked the baker for the finest, richest slice of cake he had. Flowers and cake in hand, he went back to his house before an attempt to try and track her down.

She was already there. As he came up the steps, she opened the door. She considered for a split-second that maybe they could make this work until she saw the piece of cake. Her smile turned into a look of complete and utter sadness after sight of that unique style and recognizable tendencies that went into each and every slice. His smile turned into a frown after sight of hers. They had both changed too much and grown too far apart, she concluded. The man knew this in the back of his mind, but wanted to believe it was not the case. She looked at him once more as she closed the door slowly.

He walked with shoulders slumped and head down to the end of the walkway. He placed the flowers and piece of cake into the trash in defeat.

Read more:

Second place short story: Rabbit and Dragon

Third place short story: Piece of cake

Our take on cake: Short stories from the editors