The moment Ryan said he didn't recognize her, Mary clearly saw the change on the girl's face.
The color drained away instantly. Her smile froze, stiff and fragile, as if she had just been slapped in public. The look in her eyes was full of grievance, disbelief, and hurt, as though Ryan had committed some unforgivable sin by not remembering her.
Mary understood immediately.
And strangely enough, seeing that expression made Mary's mood rise instead of fall.
Very good.
If she was unhappy, Mary was happy.
Without hesitation, Mary decided she would go home and cook something truly delicious tonight. Ryan deserved a reward.
The girl's eyes reddened as she spoke, voice trembling slightly. "I'm Vanessa… I helped bandage your arm last time when you were injured at the health center."
She bit her lip. "Don't you remember me?"
Ryan paused.
After a moment of searching his memory, he vaguely recalled the incident. Someone had given him an anti-inflammatory injection, but the needle hadn't gone in properly, so it had to be done twice.
His veins were easy to find. There really hadn't been anything special about it.
Wait—
Before the thought was fully formed, alarm bells rang in his head.
Don't let my wife misunderstand.
Ryan immediately straightened his posture and spoke quickly, clearly, and without hesitation.
"Oh. I didn't remember," he said plainly. Then he turned slightly and placed a hand on Mary's shoulder. "This is my wife, Mary. We're in a hurry to go home and cook, so we'll be leaving first."
The girl's face twisted with anger and humiliation.
She stomped her foot lightly, forcing a smile that looked more painful than polite. "Mr. Ryan… goodbye."
Ryan didn't look back.
Mary let him pull her away, warmth spreading quietly in her chest. That decisiveness—no hesitation, no ambiguity—earned him another invisible point in her heart.
*
Back Home;
Ryan unlocked the door and stepped inside, already rolling up his sleeves. "Wife, wash your face first. I'll cook."
Mary smiled faintly. "I'll wash my face, but don't cook yet. Wash the rice and steam it first. I'll handle the fish."
Nurturing a man didn't mean spoiling him to be useless.
If a man was willing to work for her, she would let him. Habits, once formed, last a lifetime.
Mary entered the bathroom and gently locked the door behind her.
The next moment, she vanished into the space.
Cleo was already waiting, tail wagging energetically the instant Mary appeared.
Mary squatted down and smiled. "I'll cook fish for you later."
Cleo's eyes lit up. She spun around excitedly. "Master! Make more! I want to eat lots of fish!"
Mary chuckled.
With a thought, a bathtub formed. She soaked briefly in the spiritual spring, letting warmth flow through her body, then moved to prepare the ingredients. During the apocalypse, she had collected plenty of kitchen tools. Using them now felt almost nostalgic.
Here, fire responded to her will.
This small independent space was a world completely governed by her mind.
It was truly heaven-defying.
She didn't kill the fish immediately. Boiling them first made it easier to separate the meat cleanly later. If the fish was sliced raw, the flesh would scatter in the pot.
To avoid exposing the space, she decided to half-cook everything here and finish it outside.
She poured spiritual spring water into the pot, letting the energy seep into the fish. As she worked, her thoughts drifted.
If Ryan passes my test… I'll let him use the spring too.
She would tell him about the space—but not about transmigration or rebirth.
That truth was too heavy.
Ryan had married Mary because of Kael's death. If he learned that the apocalypse and everything after had connections she couldn't fully explain, the guilt might crush him for life.
Some truths were better left unsaid.
As for why the original Mary never truly lived with Ryan in the previous timeline?
There was no point in dwelling on it.
This life was already different.
She prepared two dishes.
One was spicy boiled fish—bright red oil, fragrant peppers, intense heat.
The other was braised fish, mild and nourishing, meant especially for Cleo.
When everything was done, Cleo was already eating happily, not even bothering to look up.
Mary smiled, waved goodbye, and left the space.
*
In the Kitchen
She stepped into the kitchen and saw Ryan carefully cleaning the fish, movements steady and practiced.
There was an old saying—A man willing to work in the kitchen loves his wife.
Mary believed it.
"Ryan," she said, "just put the fish in the basin after cleaning it. By the way, can you eat spicy food?"
Ryan nodded without looking up. "Yes. Are you planning to make it spicy?"
She reached out, took off his apron, and tied it around herself.
"No," she said lightly. "You'll know soon."
She closed the kitchen door and, with a subtle wave of her hand, transferred the cleaned fish into the space.
Then she turned back to the stove.
The fire lit.
She poured the prepared soup into the pot and laid the sliced fish neatly on the chopping board. After boiling for ten minutes, she removed the fish head and bones, then gently slid the fish meat into the bubbling broth.
Once the fire was turned off, the fish would be perfectly cooked.
Tonight's meal—
Would be unforgettable.
*
The cooked fish and soup were poured into a large enamel basin. Mary sprinkled dried chilies and chopped scallions on top, the red and green colors instantly coming alive.
She heated a pot of oil until it shimmered, then poured it down in one smooth motion.
Whoosh.
The oil sizzled as it met the chilies, releasing a rich, spicy fragrance that filled the entire kitchen in an instant.
Ryan smelled it from the living room.
He froze.
This scent… he had never smelled anything like it before.
Mary pushed the kitchen door open and called out, "It's done. Come help me carry the food."
Ryan stood up at once and walked in. When he saw the basin on the counter, he paused in surprise.
Boiled fish.
A genuine eastern-style boiled fish.
The red oil glistened, the fish slices lay tender and smooth, and the aroma was so strong it made his mouth water instantly.
They carried everything to the table. As Ryan sat down, he unconsciously glanced at Mary.
She was sitting across from him, wiping sweat from her forehead with a handkerchief.
Something felt different.
Her face was clearly slimmer than before, no longer round and swollen. Her skin looked fairer, smoother. At a glance, she seemed more delicate, more refined.
Ryan had always been observant.
Ever since Mary woke up from her fever, everything about her had changed. Not just her personality. Even her appearance felt different. This dish alone was proof enough. The knife work on the fish slices was precise and clean. This was not something one learned overnight. It took years.
Yet Mary said nothing.
So he said nothing too.
If she did not want to talk about it, he would wait. When she was ready, she would tell him herself.
Mary noticed him sitting quietly, chopsticks unmoving. She curved her lips slightly.
"Ryan," she said lightly, "why aren't you eating? What are you thinking about?"
Ryan's heart jumped.
Did I stare too much?