Snickerdoodles

One moment was all it took to turn fondness into despair. Growing up, whenever I was sick or had a bad day, my mother would bake a batch of snickerdoodle cookies just for me. I remember watching her mold the balls, and sprinkling them with cinnamon and sugar, my anxieties from the day melting away. Problems seemed so trivial when they came out of the oven, their comforting smell chasing away my worries.  
When I met Jess, she radiated warmth, just like my Mom’s cookies. Her green eyes would sparkle as she spontaneously said, “How about an adventure?” I thought our marriage was going to be one adventure after another. Our first years of marriage were full of adventures; decorating the small house we bought, inviting friends over for drinks and dinners we had spent hours preparing in our small kitchen. Snickerdoodles are always for dessert.
Four years later and I am alone in our small kitchen. Every night I cook dinner for us, with Snickerdoodles for dessert and every night she is late. Meetings have run late, drinks with new friends, traffic; there is always an excuse. There are at least 6 dozen cookies laying around our kitchen, growing stale, yet every night I always bake more. Making them has become my own personal mantra; things will get better, we will be happy, Jess will come home. The smell of them baking still gives me hope, as I wait for her to walk through the front door. Tonight will be the night. After dinner, we will eat this fresh batch of cookies and she will tell me all about her day, her eyes sparkling like I remember.
I am smiling at the thought, when something catches my eye on the windowsill. Her wedding ring. I can feel myself begin to shake. Six months after I placed that ring on her finger, she cut herself, while helping prep dinner. While she ran water over it, I went and grabbed the first aid kit. As I grabbed her hand and began to slip off her wedding ring, she stopped me. Tearfully, she looked at me and said, “Don’t take it off. The only time this ring will come off is if we are ever over.” I let go of the ring and simply stated, “ Then it will never come off, as I have no plans of ever going anywhere.” We sat on the cold tile floor, laughing as I bandaged up her finger, replaying our vows in my head.
I can’t rip my eyes away from the ring, discarded on the windowsill. As I pick up the ring and turn it over in my hand I hear the timer in the background, the smell of the cookies surrounding me in my grief. It is over. The comforting smell now makes my stomach turn.  
As I finally regain my senses, I hear the front door open and shut. Before she can say a word, I place her wedding ring on the kitchen table and stare into her green eyes. “The cookies are burnt,” and I walk out the door, knowing our life together is over without her saying a word.