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Isabella's car was parked in the hospital parking lot across the street. She drove, taking Andrew back to the apartment.

Amelia took Asher to his early education class and wasn't at home.

The two of them had to prepare dinner by themselves.

Andrew was a patient, so she couldn't let him cook. She could only brace herself and walk into the kitchen.

Anyway, as long as he dared to eat, she dared to make.

She wasn't adept at cooking, which wasn't entirely her fault. Her mother was elegant and skillful in piano, wine appreciation, painting—she excelled in almost everything but cooking. Naturally, she didn't groom her daughter to be a chef.

Later, Charlotte married her father, and to play the role of a good wife and mother, she was even less likely to cook.

The kitchen was stocked with various ingredients, but Isabella felt a headache looking at the raw vegetables and fresh fish and meat.

She held her phone, browsing Baidu recipes, learning and cooking at the same time, barely managi