Ten Years, Eleven Dishes, and Not One Had My Name

Synopsis

"And she is?" the photographer asked. "Nora. She helps out." My husband didn't even look at me. I was standing in the kitchen I had mortgaged my mother's house to build. That night, he accepted an award for a menu filled with recipes written in my hand. By dessert, his mother was already discussing the woman he should have beside him for the cameras. For ten years, I told myself I was part of our dream. Then I learned how easily a wife can be edited out of the life she helped create.