At her husband's house, Ruby spent the night alone, as expected.
Tossing and turning in her bed.
She kept calling her husband, but he kept ignoring her calls.
"What has gotten into Tom?" She muttered to herself as she headed to the bathroom, half asleep.
She couldn't have dinner last night, and now her stomach was making some weird noises.
She went down to order someone to cook breakfast for her.
There was a uniformed house help, cleaning the table in the living room. Ruby took a chair and leaned her elbows on the table.
"Who is the chef here?" She asked the woman who frowned at her and then shrugged.
"We don't have a chef."
"Oh," Ruby pulled down her lower lip, "So who will cook breakfast for me? Or is it your responsibility?"
The woman who had moved to cleaning the showcase turned around this time to face Ruby, "And who are you exactly?" She placed her fist on her hip.
