His Private Chef
The one suffering the most from this arrangement was Henry.
Laura proudly saved her practice meals for Henry, and he, ever the dutiful husband, forced himself to taste every bite. I nearly collapsed from laughter watching him choke down a spoonful, his face straining with every swallow, only to muster a brave smile and force out, “Excellent, darling.”
One afternoon, while Laura answered a call, Henry entered the kitchen. His voice was low, his eyes darting toward the door like a guilty man. “Emily, you have to stop. My stomach is suffering.”
Bab Populer