Abigail ordered a few dishes, but I had no appetite.
I looked at her curiously and asked, "Did you bring me here for something?"
Abigail didn't answer right away. Instead, she stared at me and asked with a smile, "You are my husband. Am I not allowed to see you without a reason?"
I didn't know how to answer, so I just nodded.
None of the dishes on the table were anything I liked. Still, I forced myself to eat, fighting the nausea and discomfort in my stomach with every bite. Even when I felt like I might throw up, I swallowed the unpleasant feeling and tried to smile at Abigail.
"Is it good?" she asked me.
I nodded. "It's good."
Abigail smiled gently. Her eyes were sincere as she said, "If you like it, I'll learn to make it. I'll cook for you every day when you come home."
"Okay." I agreed.
However, Abigail's expression gradually became more complicated. She seemed a little hesitant, as if she wanted to say something. It was something I had never seen from her before.
"Samuel, when are you going to stop pretending?
I looked at her in slight confusion and asked, "Pretending? What do you mean?"
Suddenly, Abigail slammed her hands down on the table in frustration and glared at me. "Samuel, can you just tell me the truth? Is there anything here you actually like?"
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