Chapter 3

I stopped in my tracks. Then I turned around and sat down at the dining table with Julian.

Chloe was still sniffling, keeping her head low.

I glanced at her and softened my tone.

"Chloe, stop crying."

"This has nothing to do with you. I don't blame you. Happy birthday."

Only then did Chloe wipe away her tears.

She looked up at me with watery eyes, sounding timid and sweet.

"Really?"

"Nora, I really miss your chicken soup. The staff's cooking just isn't the same as yours."

I nodded, choosing not to push back just so I could get this over with.

"Sure. I'll make it after lunch."

Chloe finally broke into a smile.

The moment she smiled, the suffocating tension in the room vanished. Mom, Dad, and Julian began chatting excitedly about the plans for her birthday party tonight.

Chloe listened, her eyes curving into crescents, but she merely picked at her salad with her fork, barely eating a bite.

Julian noticed immediately. He lifted his chin toward me from across the table.

"Are you done eating yet?"

"Chloe doesn't have an appetite. If you're full, go start the soup."

I looked down at my plate, which I had barely touched, and replied flatly, "No."

"Even unpaid laborers get to finish their meal before they're put to work."

Julian choked on his words.

Mom, however, couldn't sit still. Without caring whether I had eaten or not, she snatched my fork right out of my hand and dragged me toward the kitchen.

"How can you even swallow your food?!"

"Your sister is starving! Go put the pot on the stove first. You can eat when you're done!"

Chloe pretended to protest. "Mom, don't..."

Dad waved his hand dismissively.

"Let your mother handle it."

"Nora should have been cooking today anyway. If we keep spoiling her, she'll walk all over us!"

Chloe gladly took the excuse, leaning back in her chair and continuing to laugh and joke with Dad and Julian.

Standing in the kitchen amidst the steam, listening to the bursts of laughter coming from the dining room, I suddenly missed the simple fried-egg noodles my foster mother used to make.

It had such a comforting, humble taste.

A splash of butter, a sprinkle of scallions, and whenever I pushed the noodles aside, I would always find a golden fried egg she had secretly hidden at the bottom of the bowl for me.

Warm, loving, and safe.

A loud beep from the kitchen timer snapped me back to reality.

I added a pinch of salt to the soup, then pulled out my phone to text Julian:

[The divorce papers are on the coffee table. Sign them now.]

[The moment the soup is ready, I'm walking out.]

Julian glanced down at his phone. The warm smile on his face instantly darkened.

He didn't reply.

Instead, he turned back to Chloe, chatting and laughing even louder than before.

Beep, beep, beep.

The timer went off. The soup was ready.

I grabbed a pair of oven mitts, preparing to carry the heavy ceramic pot out to the table.

Suddenly, Chloe skipped into the kitchen, acting all helpful.

"Nora, thank you for working so hard on the soup!"

"Let me help with this little chore. Give it to me, I'll carry it out."

My brows furrowed instinctively, and I shifted the pot away from her.

In the eight years I had lived here, whenever she got close to me, disaster followed.

"No need. It's boiling hot, and you aren't wearing mitts. I'll do it."

Chloe leaned in, still insisting.

"Oh, come on, Nora! Don't be so formal. I'm not afraid of the heat. Give it to me!"

Seeing me pull back even further, Chloe dropped the act entirely.

Her face twisted into a vicious glare, and she hissed under her breath:

"I said, give it to me!"

Crash!

The heavy ceramic pot smashed onto the tiled floor. Boiling hot broth splashed violently across my bare shins.

The searing pain turned my face paper-white in an instant.

I couldn't even stand straight, and before a scream could escape my lips, Chloe dropped to her knees right onto the jagged ceramic shards.

She let out a piercing, bloodcurdling shriek:

"Nora, please! Don't burn me!"