The elation in my heart was hard to contain. I quickly signed my name on the agreement.
By the time I got back home, it was already evening.
I tried to open the door with my key but found the lock had been changed. Confused, I knocked on the door and called out, but no one answered.
Just as I was about to call the housekeeper, Weston walked out with his arms crossed, looking at me with pure disgust.
"You still know how to come back? Why didn't you just die out there somewhere? Then you wouldn't have to cook for me and Mom anymore."
I knew he was angry because I hadn't prepared his three meals that day. After all, Weston had a delicate and picky appetite and very few people could satisfy him without upsetting his stomach. To take care of his health, I had explicitly taken cooking classes and meticulously prepared every meal for him as he grew up.
Back then, Weston would always hug me with a smile and say, "Daddy, you're the most amazing chef! I want to eat your food forever."
I never knew when his attitude towards me started to turn sour. Until now, he would curse me to die every time he saw me.