The aroma of chicken soup simmering on the stove filled the air, while Valentine Teller deftly sliced potatoes into matchsticks.
Her potato slices were thin and even, spreading out like a chrysanthemum when placed in the water.
With the fragrant dishes served, Valentine called from the kitchen, "Go wash your hands, it's time to eat."
In the blink of an eye, Mark Reed hobbled over to the dining table with his crutches, eagerly awaiting the meal.
It had been three days since he was discharged from the hospital. Apart from a fractured leg preventing normal walking, his skin burns and chest gunshot wound were mostly healed. As long as he didn't exert himself, they no longer hurt.
"The meals my wife cooks are so aromatic, just smelling it makes my mouth water. It must taste even better," Mark complimented exaggeratedly as the chicken soup was brought to the table, praising Valentine's culinary skills.
