A Dish Best Served Sweet

This story contains themes of betrayal, mental health struggles, physical health challenges (including dental trauma and eating difficulties), revenge fantasies, implied violence, and loss of relationships and trust. Reader discretion is advised.

The Weight of Time

Nadine sat in her dimly lit apartment, her pen hovering over a worn journal. The room smelled faintly of dust and neglect, the faint hum of the fridge her only company. A single candle burned on a chipped saucer before her, its fragile flame dancing as though it, too, might abandon her. Across the room, her Hourglass stood tall in the shadows, its glass shimmering faintly under the dim light. The sand trickled slowly downward, almost taunting her with its inevitability. She glanced at it frequently these days, each grain a quiet reminder of time slipping away. 

The list on the page glared back at her: 

- Homes 

- Family Members, Friends, Partners 

- Health, Teeth, Weight, Innocence 

- Trust, Love, Faith 

- Money, Jobs 

- Self 

Each word carried the weight of a lifetime’s worth of loss. The lines of her face deepened as she stared at the list, her lips tightening. How much more could a person lose before they stopped being themselves?

Her eyes flicked back to the Hourglass. The bottom chamber was nearly full, 4/5 of the sand already settled, leaving only a slim cascade trickling down from the upper chamber. A decade’s worth of sand remained—a fraction of her life, but still enough to plan, to act, and to claim her justice. The sight sent a shiver through her, not because of the years ahead, but because she knew the grains would not last forever. Each one that fell was a quiet reminder of the fleeting time left, urging her forward—each moment, a fragment she could never reclaim. 

As she shifted her gaze, it landed on the piano in the corner of the room, its once-polished surface now covered in a fine layer of dust. The keys she had once coaxed joy and solace from sat silent, unused. There was a time when her hands had danced effortlessly across them, filling her home with warmth and melody. But now, the thought of playing felt distant, like a happiness she no longer had the energy to reach for. It stood as a quiet monument to the life she’d once had—a life that felt like it belonged to someone else. 

"Mom?"

Nadine looked up. Her teenage son, Yulian, stood in the doorway. His light blue eyes, filled with both strength and sorrow, reflected the resilience she sometimes struggled to find in herself. 

"What are you doing?" 

She closed the journal with a deliberate snap and forced a smile. "Making plans for our Future," she said. 

Yulian stepped closer, sensing the heaviness in her words. His superpower, empathy, was both a gift and a curse; he could feel her pain as though it were his own. He glanced at the Hourglass, then back at her. "We’ll get there," he said quietly. 

"One Christmas, not too far from now, I'll find my justice," she murmured to herself, though the thought of waiting much longer made her heart ache. She hoped it would come sooner—before the sands ran out. 

The candle flickered again, its tiny flame a fragile beacon of hope. Nadine nodded, though her heart felt as brittle as the wax that pooled below the wick. 

Shattered Promises, Unbreakable Resolve

Once, Nadine’s life had been filled with light. Her childhood home had wide windows that spilled sunlight onto hardwood floors, where she would often sit and let her fingers dance across the keys of the family’s upright or baby grand piano. The soft, melodic notes would echo through the house, weaving themselves into her happiest memories. But even as a girl, she learned to read between the cracks-the strained silences between songs, the shadows that crept into the corners of the sunlit rooms.

Her father, Dale, was a man of principles. Though times were often hard, his promises came from a place of genuine love. “We’ll get through it,” he’d say with steady assurance, and Nadine believed him. He worked tirelessly to keep their family afloat, and while his warmth occasionally gave way to the weight of stress, his intentions were never in doubt.

It wasn’t Dale who first shattered Nadine’s trust—it was someone else.

It happened one Christmas Day, a time meant for celebration. The room glowed with twinkling lights, the scent of pine mingling with the sweet aroma of baking cookies. Nadine’s laughter filled the air as she opened gifts with her siblings. But Ivel, with his charming smile and calculated words, stole her joy in an instant.

“Nadine, you know I’ll always protect you,” he said, pulling her aside under the pretense of care. His voice was honeyed, laced with deceit. “If anyone ever tries to hurt you, they’ll have to go through me first.”

But his touch that day betrayed his words. It was unwanted and heavy, a violation that left her frozen in fear. His promises were as false as the grin he wore when he rejoined the family moments later, his arm slung casually around Elise as though he hadn’t just crushed Nadine’s innocence.

Worse still, Ivel had once vowed to Elise that he would love and cherish her, that he would be a protector and partner. Yet even those sacred promises were lies, broken in ways that rippled through their family. His betrayal wasn’t isolated; it was layered, poisoning not just Nadine’s trust but also her admiration for the love and bond that should exist between a husband and his wife.

From that moment, Nadine began to keep a mental tally of “X’s,” marking each betrayal, each false promise, each stolen piece of herself. Ivel’s tally was the first, and it loomed largest in her mind for years to come.

As an adult, Nadine sought love in men who seemed different from her father but proved all too similar. All four of her husband’s left her with more scars than solace. The first husband charmed her with his sweet words, but his actions added sharp “X’s” to her mental tally. Her second husband was a steady rock until pressure crushed him. Ydal broke promises like glass underfoot. Esmir abandoned her when her health faltered. Each betrayal taught her that love often came with strings tied to pain.

Even authority figures—judges, doctors, employers—betrayed her. Judges sided with her perpetrators, despite evidence of their lies and manipulations. Doctors dismissed Nadine’s pain with condescending platitudes, leaving her to navigate a body broken by illness and neglect.

When her teeth were removed in a traumatic surgery, she had been assured it would lead to better health. Instead, it left her hollow, unable to eat or smile without wincing. Pound by pound, her vitality slipped away, until she was a shadow of herself.

The apartment’s cracked walls and flickering light bulbs were a far cry from the sanctuary Nadine envisioned. Yet, as she sat with Yulian at the small kitchen table, her dream began to take shape.

"We’ll build a house," Nadine said, her voice resolute.

"A castle," Yulian corrected with a grin.

She smiled for real this time, imagining it: a glass castle on a hill, overlooking a winding river. The walls would be transparent, allowing her to see everything clearly—friends, enemies, and those who lurked in shadows. Inside, there would be lush greenery in a central courtyard, elegant staircases that spiraled upward, and bookshelves filled with the knowledge she had always craved.

"The Voyagers will see it," she said.

Yulian’s expression darkened. "The people who hurt you don’t deserve to see your triumph."

"They need to see it," Nadine replied. "And they need to understand."

The Glass Castle: A Reflection of Resilience

Years later, Nadine found her niche and was growing a successful business alongside her son, Yulian. They built their home as she had envisioned it. 

Invitations went out to those who had been kind to her and wronged her: family Members, Friends, old partners, even the authoritative figures. Each card carried a simple message: Dinner at my home, Christmas Eve. A night of truth.

Yulian hesitated as they worked together, sensing his mother’s simmering anger beneath her calm exterior. "You’re sure this isn’t revenge?"

She met his gaze with quiet determination. "It’s justice."

The house was alive with the spirit of Christmas, or so it seemed at first glance. Nadine’s glass Castle, perched on the mountaintop, sparkled under the pale moonlight, every surface glowing with warmth and light. Inside, she had gone to great lengths to decorate every room with a towering Christmas tree, each one reflecting a different theme and color. It was her way of reclaiming the holiday, a season she once associated with broken promises and shattered dreams.

The Entryway: A Snowy Wonderland - A white tree, dusted with faux snow and adorned with icicles, silver ribbons, and crystal ornaments, greeted the Voyagers as they entered. Beneath it, white boxes wrapped with silver bows sat perfectly arranged, though they contained nothing—a subtle jab at the empty promises they had made to her over the years. 

The Dining Room: A Gilded Feast - A gold-and-burgundy tree symbolized abundance, its branches dripping with golden apples and candle-shaped lights. 

The Sitting Room: Memory Lane - A tree hung with black-and-white photos of Nadine’s Past, each a fragment of what had been lost: family, innocence, trust. Tiny envelopes dangled like forgotten wishes, unopened and unfulfilled. 

The North Wing: A Future of Hope - Nadine’s private wing held the most personal tree, decorated in deep emerald green and copper tones, symbolizing her growth and resilience. Ornaments shaped like ivy leaves climbed the branches, weaving upward toward the angel at the top. The angel, in a flowing gown of green silk, extended her hands as though reaching for something higher—something beyond the confines of the mortal world.

Beside it stood the towering Hourglass, each grain of sand glowing faintly as it fell, marking the passage of time. Most of the sand had already settled below, leaving only a small, swirling layer in the upper chamber—a quiet, ominous reminder of the time Nadine believed she had left.

Each passing moment seemed to echo in the room as the sand trickled downward. Yulian often found her staring at the Hourglass, lost in thought. “What are you thinking about, Mama?” he had asked once.

“That every grain of sand is a memory, a promise kept or broken,” she replied. “And when the last one falls… perhaps that’s when I’ll finally rest.”

Every window was frosted with artificial snow, creating the illusion of a cozy winter evening. Twinkling fairy lights lined the banisters and archways, casting a soft golden glow over the modern, glass-walled interior.

A Christmas of Reckoning and Redemption

The guests arrived in their cars, the long driveway lined with glimmering lanterns that lit the path to Nadine’s glass castle. The scene was enchanting, with the frosted windows of the house reflecting the soft glow of the moonlight. Valets directed the guests where to park and escorted them to the grand entryway, where they were instructed to wait in the snowy foyer. The air inside was filled with the faint scent of evergreen and the soft hum of a string quartet playing in the background. As the last of her most significant guests—those who had shaped her past, both positively and negatively—entered, a hushed anticipation fell over the room.

When Nadine appeared at the top of the glass staircase, the room grew silent. She descended with the poise of a queen, dressed in a pure white custom-made evening gown that hugged her petite, hourglass-shaped figure, accentuated by three-inch heels that gave her a towering presence she had never felt before. The gown shimmered with subtle beading, catching the light like the grains of sand in her Hourglass. Her small stature, now elevated, carried an undeniable power, and her guests—especially her former partners—stared in awe. For once in her life, Nadine felt proud and untouchable, the embodiment of the justice she was about to serve.

With a graceful gesture, she invited her guests to follow her. They moved as if spellbound, their footsteps echoing faintly against the marble floors as they entered the sitting room. The air was warm and inviting, scented with hints of cedar and cinnamon. A soft golden glow emanated from the twinkling fairy lights that adorned the room, casting flickering patterns on the glass walls. The centerpiece of the space was a pristine white grand piano, its polished surface reflecting the light like a mirror. The guests settled into plush chairs arranged in an intimate semicircle, their murmured conversations fading as Nadine took her place at the piano.

Christmas carols played softly from a white grand piano in the sitting room, where Nadine played, her fingers gliding over the keys as she sang: 

"Silent night, holy night..."

Her voice carried softly through the halls as the guests gathered, nibbling on appetizers: goat cheese crostini and smoked salmon on cucumber slices. Nadine played on, her melodies joyful yet haunting, a subtle prelude to the evening’s revelations.

Soon afterwards, Nadine led her guests to their seats in the dining hall, her smile was as radiant as the decorations, but her eyes carried the weight of her past. She took a moment to look around at the table and the guests who had once been integral parts of her life, both positively and negatively. As they chatted and laughed, completely unaware of her true intentions, Nadine clutched her glass of wine tightly. She had dreamed of this moment-not for revenge, but for the closure she had long been denied.

At the center of the table was a feast unlike any other:

Main Course: Beef bourguignon and creamy mashed potatoes for the guests, while Nadine’s place held soft creamed rice pudding, a subtle nod to her own struggles.

Dessert: The grand finale-a gold rice pudding sprinkled with edible gold flakes. Nadine watched as her guests savored it, the sweetness masking the bitter truth it carried.

Nadine rose to speak. She addressed her guests with practiced grace. 

"Tonight is about reflection," she began. Her voice was calm but carried an undercurrent of emotion. "Each of you has been part of my story, for better or worse. You’ve taught me about loss, betrayal, and the strength it takes to rebuild."

The Voyagers shifted uncomfortably as she recounted her struggles: Yulian’s father’s drinking, Esmir’s abandonment, Ydal’s betrayal—all were laid bare. Yet Nadine’s tone was not accusatory; it was measured, almost mournful.

"I’ve lost so much," she said, her gaze sweeping the room. "But I’ve also learned that loss doesn’t define me. What defines me is how I rise."

As the guests finished their dessert, a strange lethargy overtook them. One by one, they slumped in their chairs, the room growing eerily silent.

Nadine moved among them, placing handwritten letters in front of each person. 

"This is your chance to make things right," the letters read. "Reflect on your actions, and use the blessings you’ve taken for good. My story ends here, but yours doesn’t have to."

As the dinner ended and the Voyagers stirred awake to discover the aftermath of Nadine’s carefully orchestrated justice, she retreated to her private wing one final time. The emerald tree glowed softly in the moonlight streaming through the glass walls, and the Hourglass stood tall, the last grains of sand swirling hesitantly at the top. Yulian silently followed her, his footsteps light but purposeful, as though drawn by an invisible thread.

Nadine sat on the chaise lounger beneath the tree, her body finally succumbing to the years of physical and emotional battles she had fought. She closed her eyes, her breath slowing as she clutched Yulian’s hand. “It’s all yours now,” she whispered to him. “The Future. The hope. Make it better than it was for me.”

Her last breath escaped her lips, just as the final grain of sand slipped through the narrow center of the Hourglass. For a fleeting moment, the sand glowed brightly, filling the bottom chamber completely before a deafening crack echoed through the room. The glass shattered, sending shards and glowing sand scattering across the floor like stars flung from the heavens.

Yulian knelt beside her still form, tears streaming down his face as he looked at the broken Hourglass. Its destruction felt symbolic—her time had run out, but in its breaking, something greater had been released. Nadine’s journey had ended, but her message, her resilience, and her hope would live on through him and the changes she had set into motion.

Yulian retreated back to the dining hall, taking his mother’s journal with him. He opened it to the last page and read it to the guests:

"I’ve given them the gift of silence, the chance to listen to their own hearts. My justice isn’t in their suffering but in their awakening. I hope they find the strength to be better than they’ve been."

“She’s gone now,” he said quietly. “But if you don’t change, her memory will haunt you forever.”

Yulian, standing in the doorway, watched them with a mixture of pity and resolve. "She wanted you to understand," he said simply.

The guests stumbled out of the castle, their reflections distorted in the glass walls. They left haunted, carrying the weight of their actions in silence.

In her private wing of the castle, Nadine lay on her bed. With the Hourglass shattered and her spirit at rest, Nadine had finally reclaimed what she had lost: peace.