3. A Bitter Rejection

I stared at the food I'd prepared with a satisfied smile.

The servants who hadn't bothered helping me all morning simply watched with amused expressions. Some of them had even started placing bets on what would happen to the dishes spread across the table.

There were only two possibilities. They would either be eaten or ignored, just like always.

The moment I heard footsteps coming down the stairs, I quickly removed my apron. I hurried toward Dylan, who was preparing to leave for work, and grabbed his arm.

"Dylan, today is my first request," I said excitedly.

Dylan glanced at my hand before brushing it away. He even wiped his arm with a handkerchief, as though disgusted by my touch.

For a moment, I stared at my fingers.

Maybe they were dirty.

No.

I'd washed my hands thoroughly earlier.

I watched Dylan look me over before letting out an irritated sigh.

"Tell me what you want."

I pointed toward the dining table covered with food.

"Have breakfast with me. I made a lot of dishes."

Dylan walked into the dining room and stopped in front of the table, studying the food with a critical gaze.

I pulled out a chair for him.

"I don't know what kind of food you like. You've never once eaten at home," I explained while preparing a plate for him. "I don't know why you always eat out, but today... I want you to eat something I made. Just for today."

Dylan looked far from pleased.

Still, he didn't object as I served food onto his plate. For several moments, he simply stared at it.

"You... you don't like it?" I asked carefully.

Dylan called over one of the servants.

"Taste it."

The servant nodded.

I froze.

What Dylan had just done felt like an insult. He didn't trust me? As if I would poison my own cooking.

Did he really think I would harm my own husband?

After seeing that the servant was perfectly fine, Dylan reluctantly took a spoonful. He chewed slowly.

There was no reaction whatsoever, aside from the usual blank expression on his face. For a moment, I thought he liked it. But the second I sat down beside him, Dylan stood up.

He picked up a napkin and wiped his lips.

"There. Your first request is finished."

I blinked. Just one bite? Was my cooking really that bad?

As Dylan turned to leave, I quickly grabbed the edge of his suit jacket.

"Wait, Dylan. I have something for you."

Dylan clicked his tongue.

"What now?" he asked lazily.

With a bright smile, I stood and picked up the lunch box I'd prepared for him.

"I made this for you."

Dylan let out an amused snort. He instructed one of the servants to take it from my hands. Without saying another word, he walked away from the dining table.

I followed behind, watching as he climbed into his car.

The servant placed the lunch box beside him.

A wide smile spread across my face. This was the first time Dylan had ever accepted a lunch I'd made for him.

I immediately reached into my pocket and pulled out my small notebook.

I checked off the first item on my list.

Number One.

Have breakfast with Dylan.

Checked!

When I returned to the kitchen, I found Jessy standing beside the dining table with her arms crossed.

The servants were already clearing away the dishes. The food I'd cooked was being dumped into large black trash bags.

I walked over to them.

"The food hasn't been eaten. Why are you throwing it away?" I asked.

Jessy merely shrugged.

One of the servants answered lazily.

"Young Master said it wasn't good. We should either throw it away or feed it to a stray dog."

My chest tightened. Something lodged itself in my throat.

Was I really that bad at cooking?

Had my parents only ever pretended to enjoy my food to spare my feelings?

The little confidence I had evaporated. I pulled a plate closer and, with my heart pounding, took a bite.

Nothing seemed wrong. The seasoning was balanced.

Then what was the problem?

I sat there in silence until Jessy's voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Done daydreaming?" she called out. "Instead of standing there looking like an idiot, why don't you throw out all this trash?"

I glanced at the pile of black garbage bags on the floor. The servant who had been clearing the table merely snickered at my dazed expression.

I looked at the untouched food still sitting on the plates.

Maybe the problem wasn't my cooking after all.

I let out a rough sigh before picking up the trash bags.

The green wheelie bin beside the garage was already full, so I had no choice but to carry everything to the dumpster farther down the road.

As I tossed the bags inside, something caught my eye. The cream-colored lunch box I'd prepared for Dylan.

It lay on the asphalt. The lid had come off. The meal I'd spent all morning preparing was no longer recognizable. It was scattered everywhere.

Crushed.

Ruined.

Disgusting.

For a moment, I could only stand there.

Dylan couldn't even bring himself to accept something as simple as a lunch I'd made for him.

I froze.

My breath caught when I noticed a stray dog licking at the food scattered across the ground.

Compared to Dylan, wasn't that dog more appreciative of my effort?

It understood that cooking required work. It understood how much time I'd spent preparing everything.

For several seconds, the world around me disappeared. There was only me and that dog.

My heart sank into my stomach as I remembered what the servant had said earlier. So it really had ended up being eaten by a dog.

With trembling hands, I pulled my notebook from my pocket. The checkmark I'd made only minutes ago was still there. Slowly, I drew a line through it until the black ink completely covered it.

Number One.

Have breakfast with Dylan.

Failed.

The dog eventually wandered away. I bent down and picked up the lunch box.

On my way back to the house, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

Vallen was calling again.

Apparently, he was still determined to convince me to start treatment.

"Anna, when can we discuss your treatment schedule?" Vallen asked.

I stayed silent.

He continued. "Do I need to speak with your family?"

"Don't do that."

"Why are you hiding this from them, huh? You need support, Anna," Vallen said, frustration evident in his voice.

I let out a bitter laugh.

"Anna?" Vallen called.

My vision blurred.

My eyes stung with tears.

No one knew I was sick. Only God and Vallen knew.

I tightened my grip on the lunch box in my hand.

What Dylan had done just minutes ago had destroyed whatever hope I had left.

Taking a long breath, I finally made a decision.

"Vallen, I'm not going through chemotherapy."