“Three-course premium holiday buffet,” the driver said, rubbing his eyes. “Glazed ham, beef tenderloin, truffle mac and cheese, and three artisanal dessert platters.”

“It’s all hot and ready to serve,” he added.

My stomach turned over, but not from hunger.

Juliette had complained about my menu for three days, calling the hot dogs and potato salad “food for the common quarters.”

Now, she had secretly ordered a feast, completely ignoring the boundary I had set about keeping things simple and affordable.

“Did she pay for this already?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am. Credit card on file. Total came to six hundred and forty dollars, plus the holiday delivery fee.”

Six hundred and forty dollars.

That was more than our grocery budget for the entire month.

I looked back at the house.

Through the trees, I could see the glow of the back patio lights, where Juliette was likely waiting for her grand entrance of food.

She wanted to humiliate me in my own home, in front of my husband and her daughter.

“There’s been a mistake with the delivery address,” I said, keeping my voice entirely steady.