Part 3Revenge Through My Cooking

David rushed to see her out. I heard their hushed voices from the doorway.

"David, you should go check on her," Linda whispered. "I think she's looking for that health report."

"Let her find it! Maybe when she sees she has terminal stomach cancer, she'll finally shut up and stay by my side where she belongs."

"What do you mean? You mean you still have feelings for her?"

"Of course not! While she's alive, she's a free maid. When she's dead, I get a fat insurance payout. I'm going to use her until there's nothing left!"

I stared at the report in my hands. My own name, my own diagnosis: mid-stage stomach cancer. My mind went blank, and my hands started to tremble uncontrollably.

The man I had painstakingly cared for for thirty years didn't just see me as a free maid. He was actively waiting for me to die.

I looked at the pot of chicken soup still simmering on the stove, and a cold resolve settled over me.

If that’s how he wanted to play it, then I would stay. And I would put my heart and soul into every single meal I made from now on.

The moment David walked back in, I ladled a bowl of chicken soup and placed it in front of him.

"Drink this while it's hot. I even added a few slices of ginseng for you."

He eyed me with suspicion. "What's this all about?"

I let out a soft sigh. "You're right, I overreacted today. It was foolish to make such a scene over an ice cream cone."

A smug grin spread across his face. "It's about time you came to your senses. Besides, where would you go without me?"

My voice cracked as I replied, "You're right. At my age, where else could I go? This house is all I have."

I pushed the soup towards him. He took it and drank the entire bowl in one gulp.

I reached for a napkin to wipe his mouth, but he shoved my hand away. "Pathetic. From now on, just stick to your cooking and stay out of my business."

I nodded. "Don't worry. I'll be sure to put my heart into every meal."

As the words left my mouth, he clutched his stomach. "Ow! Why does my stomach suddenly hurt so much?"

Watching him stumble towards the bathroom, I clenched the empty bowl in my hands.

Ginseng and ice cream. That was just the appetizer.

David, your reckoning is coming.

From the day I "surrendered," David became even more brazen.

At first, he would meet Linda in secret. Now, he brought her right into our home.

"You need to teach Linda how to cook properly," he told me, his tone matter-of-fact. "That way, when you're gone, she can take over for me."

I gripped the spatula so hard my nails dug into my palm.

The old bastard!

I wasn't even dead yet, and he was already training my replacement.

Linda chimed in with a sickeningly sweet smile.

"David always says what an amazing cook you are. If you teach me, I can help out and you can finally get some rest."

The old me would have sent them packing with a hot pan.

But now, I just smiled and nodded. "Of course. I'd be happy to. Just tell me what you want to learn."

And so, David began eating from two kitchens. He’d have lunch at Linda’s, then come home for the dinner I prepared.

On the first day, I taught Linda how to make spicy crab. That evening, I served him a hearty beef and tomato stew.

On the second day, I showed her how to pan-sear lamb chops. For dinner, I made a chilled watermelon and lotus seed soup.

On the third day, I taught her a simple spinach stir-fry. That night, I made him scrambled eggs with loofah squash.

In just three days, David's face turned as sallow as old newspaper. He spent most of his time clutching the toilet, moaning in pain.

The doctor couldn't find anything wrong with him, just advised him to watch his diet and avoid street food.

Hearing this, David became even more dedicated to eating our home-cooked meals.