Divorce to Destiny: Reclaiming My CEO Husband

428 Desperate Times

(Cass)

The first few nights were rough-I stayed in the smallest, cheapest hostels I could find, the kind where you barely feel safe enough to close your eyes. The money I had quickly dwindled away, gone on overpriced vending machine snacks and cramped rooms. Desperation and the reality of being broke in a foreign country hit hard, but I didn't let it break me. Instead, I started traveling by train, hopping from one small country town to another, offering to wash dishes or clean tables in exchange for a meal or a warm place to sleep. Getting just enough money to get me to my next destination, edging ever close to Brussels. It might be a luxury, but it's me. I'm doing it. I'm being independent and I like it.

It isn't glamorous, but it's kept me going. I travel as far as the money I have will get me and try to keep a little for some food.

Upside, I've lost some pounds, and I've tried so many new foods I didn't even know existed. Downside, language barrier is a struggle and it's been two days since anything decent hit my stomach.

Europe, as I discovered, is full of little pockets of culinary magic. Even in the tiniest towns, food is made with care, with heart, and it stirred something in me.

I've always had a passion for plant-based dishes. I'm learning that simple ingredients, when treated with respect, create something extraordinary. I started paying attention, soaking in every bit of knowledge I could.

And yeah, I'm still using a little bit of pot here and there. Just to take the edge off. I can stop anytime I want and it's not a problem.

It's not like I'm popping pills anymore-that's something, right? Baby steps. But I am aware of what I'm running from. That last day, the man was killed, God, I don't want to go to jail.

I need to tell Winona the truth about it all. But for now I just need to get one more job and I'll have the fare to Brussels. This town seems the smallest so far. I clutch my backpack and small case as I walk the street.

Not a lot of shops, it's more of a village.NôvelDrama.Org exclusive content.

But I see a building that must be the pub or inn ahead. hope they have some work. I have a little money left and I know I need to eat something substantial today.

The heavy wooden door creaks as I push it open, and I'm hit by the mouthwatering aroma of deliciousness. My stomach growls, a painful reminder that it's been far too long since I've had a proper meal.

The place is bustling, full of people laughing over pints and I see each table is laden with food. It seems strange, this village doesn't seem like this many people live here.

But anyway, I hope they can squeeze me in. Maybe it's a private function.

I see a corner table with 2 chairs and I make my way to that. I guess if it's taken, I'll get kicked off.

I glance at the menu and wince. The prices are way higher than I expected for a tiny place in the middle of

428 Desperate Times

nowhere, but I don't have any options left. I'll order the cheapest thing, a bowl of vegetable soup.

At least I think it's vegetable, luckily this menu has pictures. But right now, I'm not going to be fussy about what's in the soup. This will be the end of my money, so I need to get some work and it looks like this is the only option, for tonight anyway. A waitress come over and I say hello. She nods and smiles, pen poised over a small pad.

"English? Do you speak English?" I ask.

She shakes her head and says something in a language I don't understand.

"Okay, ah this...soup?" I point to the dish on the menu.

She nods, writes it down and then waits in expectation

"Oh, no, that's all," I say. "Just the soup." I spread my last few coins out on the table and point to them and the soup.

She nods as if she's understood and takes the order to the kitchen.

When the soup arrives, the smell makes my mouth water. I take a sip, and it's good-really good. No, better than good. It is excellent. But I can't help thinking it could use a touch more acidity and maybe some fresh thyme to take it to the next level. Just a thought. But if I can share that with the chef, he might give me some work.

I wave over the waitress, who's rushing between tables. "This soup is fantastic," I tell her. "Does anyone speak English?"

She just looks at me.

"English...anyone at all."

A man from the next table says something to her and she speaks back to him. Then he says to me, "no one here speak English except for the chef, she says."

"Thank you for helping. I just wanted to let the chef know how amazing his soup is and maybe offer some ideas. I'm also looking for a few day's work."

He nods and relays that to her. She shakes her head and talks quickly back to him.

"She says no work here and Chef does not take suggestions."

That answer is not an option for me.

I need some money and somewhere to sleep tonight.