When the delivery arrived, Owen eagerly grabbed a large piece of fried chicken and started devouring it. Irene looked at the food in his hands with obvious distaste before placing a piece of her homemade pot roast on his plate.
"Sweetie, try my pot roast. It's definitely better than whatever you're eating," Irene said.
However, to her surprise, Owen was not interested. He pushed the plate back toward Irene and stated, "No thanks, Grandma. You can eat it yourself."
Irene pushed the plate back in front of Owen. "Owen, please just try a little bit. I picked out the best pieces, especially for you."
Owen continued munching on his fried chicken, not even bothering to respond.
Jack chimed in from the side, "Your grandma worked so hard in the heat just to prepare this dish. Yet, this is how she's thanked..."
Simon stood up abruptly and snatched the chicken from Owen's hands. "You will finish this pot roast!"
Owen licked his lips and looked up at Simon with teary eyes. He wanted to protest but was too scared to speak up in the face of his father's anger.
I smiled slightly as I took the plate from Simon's hands. "Why are you raising your voice at the child? Can't we discuss things calmly? If Owen doesn't want to eat it, why force him?"
Simon's parents stared at me in shock. They had always known me as someone who rarely ordered takeout. After all, I had previously lectured them about how many delivery restaurants were unsanitary and sold pre-made dishes.
Moreover, I especially criticized fast food joints, warning them about their questionable kitchen conditions. Clearly, they had not expected this complete reversal in my attitude.
Owen happily resumed eating his chicken and smiled at me. "Mom, you're the best."
Was this enough? No—the best was yet to come.
