Julian Hayes got home while I was adding slices of meat to the pot.The base was one Mom had mailed from Sorrin—beef chili, extra hot.For the past seven years, because Julian wouldn't eat spice, I'd kept those packs at the back of my cabinet.I always left them until they expired, then threw them out.That day, I suddenly found myself craving a taste.As soon as Julian pushed the door open and smelled the spice, his expression darkened."Didn't I say I don't eat spice? Dump it. The smell makes me sick," he complained.In our seven years of marriage, he always said that chili turned his stomach.When Mom sent me ribs from home, he would glance at them and say that there was chili on them. Then, he'd drop them in the trash.I made a spicy fish stew once. He smelled it. That night, every pot and plate in the house was replaced.I thought he hated chili through and through.And so, I bent to his taste for seven years.It was only that day, when I happened to see him at the ste
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