2

In my last life, when Theo approached me, all I could think about was marrying Gavin and building a home.

I couldn't bear to leave that city, so I turned him down.

Looking back now, it was such a waste.

This time, I wanted to live for myself.

I had barely sent the reply when the break-room door opened.

Megan poked her head inside and spoke hesitantly. "Nora, I wanted to ask you something... That staff lunch. Could I still order from your family?"

I paused, then recognized her.

In my last life, when the whole company was shutting me out, she never joined in.

She once quietly left a hot milk tea on my desk and walked away without a word.

I had never forgotten those quiet acts of kindness.

I nodded. "Of course."

"But eight dollars is the lowest we can go. The ingredient costs are what they are."

Megan shook her head quickly. "That's fair. Absolutely. Food safety matters. I'd rather pay a little more for peace of mind!"

Another coworker joined us. "Exactly. I've seen your parents picking the vegetables themselves. They scrub off every speck of dirt. I know I can trust your family's food."

As we were talking, my phone lit up again.

Theo had sent another message. "I've booked you a flight out in three days. Nora, don't stand me up."

I read it and exhaled softly.

At noon the next day, lunch arrived on schedule.

Our lunches came in compostable containers made from pressed straw pulp.

Each one sat inside a rough but sturdy reusable cloth bag.

Fiona passed my desk and glanced at my container.

She tossed out a comment without slowing down. "That container looks so rough. It even feels scratchy. Ours are reusable glazed stoneware. You can feel the quality in the weight."

She set the hotel's glazed stoneware bowl on the desk. Its surface was polished enough to reflect a face.

A coworker immediately crowded closer. "Exactly. It looks expensive! And the food is delicious. The foie gras is cooked perfectly, and the lobster is tender with just the right bite! A meal like this for three dollars is unreal."

I said nothing and went quietly back to my desk.

After a meal, ordinary stoneware usually retained at least a few faint marks.

No amount of scrubbing should have made it shine like a mirror.

Yet every one of their bowls was unnaturally spotless.

That unnatural shine came from the hotel's cost-cutting.

To save on labor and detergent, they soaked the dishes in diluted industrial pesticide and let the chemicals dissolve the stains.

I didn't look up. I opened my own lunch and ate slowly.

The vegetables were sweet, the meat fresh and savory. It tasted like home.

But the quiet didn't last long.

A pair of hands suddenly entered my field of vision. Fiona had appeared beside my desk.

She waved a bite of foie gras on her fork and smiled brightly. "Nora, stop guarding that little bit of home cooking. Here, try mine!"

The foie gras was an unnatural, icy white, its flesh tight and glossy.

A faint chemical odor, almost like bleach, made me instantly wary.

My parents drilled it into me from childhood.

Something that looks appealing yet reeks of harsh chemicals might not make you sick after a single bite.

But the damage would build with repeated exposure, and by the time symptoms appeared, regret would be useless.

I didn't take Fiona up on it and was about to go back to my food.

Megan, the colleague who had insisted on ordering from us, came over as well.

She frowned, studied the foie gras for a few seconds, and lowered her voice. "Fiona, that color isn't right, is it? Cooked foie gras should be pale yellow or creamy white. This is white as paper, and the smell is sharp. This is going into your stomach. Don't be careless about it."