Naomi Sinclair and I grew up together at Willow Creek Orphanage. We knew each other, grew close, fell in love. Soon after she gave birth to our son, her birth parents found her. She became the only heiress to the Sinclair family name. Our son, from a young age, received an elite education and took on the Sinclair surname. Years later, when I handed Naomi the divorce papers, she looked a little impatient and asked why. I simply replied, “Because last night, the food I cooked went cold.” Content “Leave with nothing?” “Be sensible—there’s no way Aiden will go with you.” Naomi didn’t look up from her phone screen. Her company was about to go public. I had once been proud of all her accomplishments, but now, all I felt was a sense of brokenness. “I’ll give up custody of Aiden,” I said. “Before we married, all I had was that little house—the Starter Cottage. That’s all I want.” When I mentioned the tiny house we’d once shared, Naomi’s expression softened a bit. “Are you still upset that Dean Preston drove me home yesterday? He’s just a business associate.” Yeah, a business associate who knew she was married and still wouldn’t give up pursuing her. I said nothing, just looked at Naomi. I hadn’t had the chance to really look at her in a long time. She was immaculately dressed, her earrings studded with pink diamonds that probably cost more than a few months of our expenses back in the day. It only took a few years, and here we were, strangers. Seeing me shake my head, she looked irritated and asked why. I replied coolly, “Because last night, the food I cooked went cold.” Before Naomi had been reclaimed by the Sinclairs, I was a freelance writer with a passion for cooking. Naomi was working in finance, struggling on a low salary and barely having time to eat. I would pack meals for her and bring them to her office. She always said it was the best food she’d ever tasted. Then, Naomi got discovered by the Sinclair family. She kept their last name but insisted on staying married to me. I continued as usual, making her three meals a day. The first year, she told me she wanted to eat my cooking for the rest of her life. But only a few years later, she was coming home drunk, escorted by her admirers. I’d take her from another man’s arms, telling her to eat something to settle her stomach. Looking at the meal I’d made, she grimaced and said, “We have a chef here, so don’t bother making all this anymore.” “Why won’t you just go to the company? Are you really so idle every day?” I’d never had a knack for business and had no interest in the Sinclair empire. Aiden clung to her so much that he would only come down to eat when he heard her voice. When I handed him his food, he shook his head. I asked him why he wouldn’t eat, and Naomi snapped, saying I sounded too harsh. “He likes Western food. He’s tired of home-cooked meals, alright?” With her support, Aiden shoved the plate, sending hot soup and shattered porcelain splashing onto my arm. Naomi held him close, soothing him gently. Then she turned to me. “Just have the staff clean it up. I’m exhausted.”
I looked at Naomi’s confused gaze but felt no need to explain. In her eyes now, maybe the only things that mattered were the flow of millions of dollars. As for Aiden, he didn’t care much either. Raised in an elite world, he’d dreamed more than once of a “greater” father—a man who made waves in the business world, not a dad who liked being in the kitchen. In the daylight, Naomi noticed the burn on my arm from the night before. She called Aiden over. “Your dad hurt himself last night. Go give him some comfort.” Aiden was calm and collected at any public speaking event, but in front of me, he didn’t even try to hide his disdain. I’d grown up without a father and thought if I just loved my son enough, he’d love me back. But it turns out I don’t have that skill. Aiden just looked at me coldly, and except for a few babyish “daddy”s when he was little, I’d never heard him call me that again. “You don’t deserve to be my dad.” Naomi gently tapped his nose as if scolding him lightly. “The place on Greenfield Row is too old, and the paperwork will take a while. You’re welcome to stay here in the meantime,” she said. “Didn’t you love that cookware I gave you? It’s not like you can take it with you.” I’d packed everything I needed in a single suitcase the night before. “That cookware—if no one’s going to use it, just throw it away,” I said, then laughed. After all, the Sinclairs had chefs to handle everything. Without me, they wouldn’t even need a kitchen in that mansion, let alone high-end cookware. “Are you heading back to Greenfield Row?” “I can have Mr. Wills drive you,” she offered. I declined, looking at mother and son with a calm smile. “You both have a lot of allergies. Be sure to have the doctor test you again and give the chefs a list.” With that, I turned and walked out, without looking back at the two people I once loved most in the world.
I didn’t go back to Greenfield Row right away. Instead, I went to Willow Creek Orphanage, where I grew up. Naomi had wanted to visit with me, but the Sinclair family didn’t exactly consider it a place to show off, and the visit kept getting delayed. I had been sending part of my writing earnings to the orphanage over the years. As soon as I walked in, Ms. Ellery recognized me and greeted me warmly. She didn’t know yet that Naomi and I had divorced and pulled me into memories of our childhood. Naomi and I grew up here. She was a year younger than me, and we were both so small back then. Ms. Ellery pointed to the kitchen and laughed, saying I’d always been fascinated watching the cook. Naomi didn’t like garlic, but at Willow Creek, kids weren’t allowed to be picky. So, whenever I cooked, I’d leave the garlic out for her. Her reminiscing made me eager to cook. I accepted the offer to handle the kids’ lunch that day. As I chopped and cooked, a group of little ones crowded around, chattering excitedly. “Wow, you’re so cool, big brother! You can cook!” “It smells amazing! When I grow up, I’m going to be a chef, too! Ten stars!” Hearing their excitement reminded me of meeting Naomi’s parents for the first time. She’d been even more nervous than I was. When they found out I was a writer who loved to cook, if it hadn’t been for their upper-class manners and guilt over abandoning her, they would have practically shown me to the door. Her father simply remarked, “Useless skills, unfit for a man of worth.” Word spread fast in their circles. Naomi quickly gained plenty of new “friends.” Every guest who saw me cooking would chuckle and joke with her. “Your husband is rare—who’d think he could cook?” Dean Preston once frowned, asking, “Naomi, doesn’t the smell of cooking on him bother you? Is it hard to sleep at night?” After hearing that over and over, Naomi started to look uncomfortable about it. She didn’t want to embarrass me, though, and gently suggested, “When friends come over, maybe let the staff handle it.” “It’s not like the Sinclair family can’t afford a chef.” And soon, Aiden was picking up on all of it too. “My dad’s no ordinary cook. He’s supposed to be a hero.”
After a few days at Willow Creek, I went back to Greenfield Row. Everywhere I looked, there were memories I had to push down. When the Sinclairs took Naomi back, they insisted we leave everything behind; even our son’s things were replaced by theirs. Everything in that old house had stayed just as it was that day. I’d thought it was a stroke of luck, but it turned out to be the end of my dream. After clearing out everything that reminded me of Naomi, I went to sleep and didn’t wake up until noon. When I checked my phone, I saw a dozen missed calls—all from her. Just then, a new call came in from an unknown number. “Hello, is this Aiden Sinclair’s father?” the voice asked. “I’m Aiden’s teacher. He’s refusing to eat lunch, saying his dad usually packs it.” The voice paused, then continued politely, “Did you forget today was the start of the semester?” I frowned, not sure what game Aiden was playing. He attended one of the best schools, where they served well-balanced meals. More than once, he’d brought back the food I packed for him untouched. “Thank you, but he won’t be needing my lunches anymore. The family chef will handle his meals,” I said, then added, “I’m no longer Aiden’s father. Please contact his mother from now on.” Maybe the teacher had Aiden on speaker, because I heard someone yell, “Aiden, don’t run!” The teacher apologized and quickly hung up. I thought back to my own childhood—I hadn’t had one of these puzzling phases. Aiden, though, had always been pretty stable. His grandparents didn’t want him around me, so every summer, they’d take him away. And with each visit, he’d grow colder toward me. At first, he’d ask me: “Why do you always do servant’s work?” “Isn’t it a waste of your time?” “Other dads fly planes. Why do you stay home and cook?” Eventually, he stopped talking to me entirely, and I’d learn about his assignments through the parent group chats. The Sinclairs were more than happy to see him drifting away from me. I hung up and went to the mall. In the middle of comparing prices, Naomi’s call came through. “What did you say to Aiden? He’s refusing to eat.” “Can’t you come back? He still needs you.” Then I heard a low male voice suggest, “We can bring him to my new restaurant.” Naomi must’ve moved away from him because she continued, “That was just a colleague. Do you know where my allergy medicine is? The chef doesn’t know I’m allergic to carrots.” I could hear a slight plea in her voice. I sighed. “Naomi, if you can’t find it, buy it online or have the staff fetch it for you. It’ll be faster than waiting for my call.” “I asked you to have the doctor run allergy tests on both you and Aiden so we wouldn’t have this problem again.” After a pause, Naomi said, “Can you at least send your recipe? Grandpa misses your cooking.” “And Aiden’s project? I’m swamped with work.” I felt my resolve weaken at the mention of Grandpa Sinclair. He’d always been the only one in the family who fully supported me, and he truly loved my cooking. But I had no desire to get pulled back into their lives. “There are plenty of recipes online,” I replied. “Naomi, you know Aiden doesn’t consider me his father. It’s time I start my own life. Let’s each go our separate ways.”
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