Chapter 2

I wanted to make my son his favorite pan-seared steak.

In my memories, Lucas loved the steaks I made.

I took the rock-hard frozen meat from the refrigerator and, imitating what my husband Derek always did, held it under the running faucet.

The ice-cold water splashed onto my face, and I giggled.

Cooking. Making food for Lucas.

The olive oil bottle was too high up. I stood on my tiptoes to reach it.

Crash!

The brown glass bottle shattered on the floor, breaking into countless pieces.

Olive oil mixed with blood flowed from my palm.

It hurt.

But I couldn't cry. Lucas didn't like it when I cried.

I carefully used my other hand to pick up the glass shards from the floor, wanting to hide them.

The blood kept flowing, dripping onto the white kitchen tiles like blooming flowers.

The meat still hadn't gone into the pan.

I grabbed the half-thawed meat, mixed with the blood and soy sauce from my hand, and stuffed it into the cold pan.

I forgot to turn on the stove. I only knew I had to put the meat in.

"Emma!"

My husband Derek's voice was filled with panic. He was home early today.

He rushed over, snatched the raw meat from my hands, and when he saw my blood-covered hands, his eyes instantly turned red.

"What were you messing with now! What happened to your hand!"

His voice was loud, and I shrunk back in fear.

But he didn't yell at me again. Instead, he pulled me to the sink and carefully rinsed my wound with warm water.

His movements were gentle. "It's not your fault. I didn't put the olive oil in a safe place."

He bandaged my hand while softly coaxing me.

Finally, he placed a Band-Aid with a little red flower printed on it in my palm.

"Our Emma is such a good girl. Here's a little flower as your reward."

I looked at the little red flower in my palm and smiled foolishly. The pain seemed to really fly away.

Just then, the door opened.

My son Lucas walked in with a beautiful girl.

It was Megan, Lucas's girlfriend.

She saw me—saw the blood and oil stains on my apron, and my hand raised to show him the Band-Aid with the little flower.

She instinctively stepped back half a step.

Lucas's face darkened instantly.

He strode over, picked up the raw meat I hadn't put in the pan from the trash can, and threw it back in hard.

"Who told you to come into the kitchen! Can't you just stay put!"

His voice was a hundred times louder than Derek's had been, making my ears ring.

I was terrified and hid behind Derek, clutching the corner of his shirt tightly.

I didn't understand. I wanted to cook for Lucas. Why was that wrong?

At the dinner table, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense.

Derek had made many dishes, but I didn't dare eat a single bite.

I saw that Megan's plate was empty. I wanted to serve her food, like I used to.

I clumsily grabbed a rib with my hand and reached toward her bowl.

Smack!

Lucas slapped the back of my hand, and the rib fell onto the table.

"You're so filthy!" he growled, his face flushed red.