I didn’t go back upstairs immediately.

I stood beneath the kitchen window until Emily finished eating.

She washed her own bowl.

She carefully wiped the counter clean.

Then she quietly carried the empty food container back to the stove, as if afraid someone would notice she had touched it.

Only after everything looked exactly as it had before did she return to our bedroom.

Not one complaint.

Not one angry word.

As if surviving on leftovers had become part of her daily routine.

I looked down at the unopened box of cherries in my hands.

Suddenly, they felt unbearably heavy.

…

That night, I pretended to arrive home at my usual time.

Emily was already lying in bed reading.

She smiled when she saw me.

“You’re home.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you eat?”

“I had dinner with a client.”

It was the first lie I had ever told her.

Only because I wanted to hear her answer.

“And you?”

“I already ate.”

She smiled exactly the same way she always did.

Without hesitation.

Without resentment.

I sat beside her.

“What did you eat?”

“Oh…”

She thought for a second.

“Eggs and vegetables.”

She lied badly.

She had never been good at lying.

I reached into my bag and took out the cherries.

“I bought these for you.”

Her eyes widened.

“For me?”

“You like them.”

She gently touched the box.

“They’re expensive.”

“You deserve expensive things.”

For a brief second…

I saw her eyes turn red.

But she simply smiled and whispered,

“Thank you.”

That single thank you hurt more than anything I had seen through the kitchen window.

…

The next morning, I took a day off work.

At exactly five in the afternoon, I entered the dining room before anyone else.

My mother looked surprised.

“Luke?”

“I’ll help serve dinner.”

She laughed.

“Since when do you help in the kitchen?”

“Starting today.”

She didn’t think much of it.

As the dishes were placed on the table, I quietly brought out a fourth set of plates and chopsticks.

Then a fifth.

My mother frowned.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re waiting for Emily.”

“She doesn’t get home until seven-thirty.”

“I know.”

“Your father can’t wait that long.”

I looked at my father.

“Dad.”

“For thirty years, Mom waited for you whenever you worked overtime.”

“You always said meals tasted better when the whole family was together.”

My father lowered his eyes.

He remembered.

My mother immediately interrupted.

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Emily married into this family.”

I nodded slowly.

“Exactly.”

“She married into this family.”

“Not into the kitchen.”

The room became silent.

Nora rolled her eyes.

“Brother, you’re making a big deal out of food.”

I looked at her calmly.

“Then tonight…”

“…you eat what Emily usually eats.”

“What?”

I walked into the kitchen.

I opened the familiar metal container.

Inside were leftovers from lunch.

Cold rice.

Half a spoonful of vegetables.

Pieces of egg.

I placed the container directly in front of Nora.

Then I moved the fresh shrimp and steamed fish to another side of the table.

“Enjoy.”

Her face changed immediately.

“I’m not eating that.”

“Why?”

“It’s leftovers.”

I nodded.

“So you know the difference.”

…

At seven twenty-eight, the front door opened.

Emily stepped inside exactly as she always did.

She froze when she saw everyone still sitting at the table.

My mother forced a smile.

“You’re back.”

Emily looked confused.

“I’ll… heat my dinner.”

“You won’t.”

I stood.

I pulled out the chair beside mine.

“Sit.”

She looked at me.

Then at my parents.

Then back at me.

“Luke…”

“Sit.”

Slowly…

She sat down.

I served her the first bowl of rib soup.

Then the best piece of fish.

Then the shrimp.

Finally, I placed the cherries beside her plate.

My mother couldn’t remain quiet anymore.

“Luke.”

“What?”

“Those dishes are for everyone.”

I nodded.

“Emily is everyone.”

Silence.

My father quietly put down his chopsticks.

He looked at my mother.

“He’s right.”

She stared at him in disbelief.

“You too?”

He sighed.

“I honestly didn’t know.”

“I thought Emily always ate with us.”

He turned toward my wife.

“I’m sorry.”

Emily quickly shook her head.

“It’s okay.”

“No.”

My father said softly.

“It isn’t.”

…

That night, after everyone went to bed, I found Emily folding laundry.

I gently took the clothes from her hands.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She remained quiet.

“I asked you a question.”

After a long silence, she finally answered.

“What would have changed?”

I couldn’t speak.

She smiled sadly.

“You left before breakfast.”

“You came home after dinner.”

“You were exhausted every day.”

“I didn’t want to give you another burden.”

My chest tightened.

“I failed you.”

She looked at me.

“You never hurt me.”

“But I wasn’t there.”

Tears finally rolled down her cheeks.

“You trusted me to protect our home.”

“And I didn’t even notice what was happening inside it.”

…

The following weekend, I met with my parents alone.

“I’ve signed the papers.”

My mother frowned.

“What papers?”

“The transfer documents.”

“What transfer?”

“I’m moving out.”

Her face changed instantly.

“You can’t leave.”

“I already have.”

“You’ll abandon your parents for your wife?”

I looked at her quietly.

“No.”

“I’m finally choosing my wife.”

She stood abruptly.

“I raised you for twenty-eight years!”

“And Emily has spent half a year eating leftovers in the house I asked her to call home.”

Neither of us spoke again.

My father quietly handed me the spare house key.

“Take care of her.”

“I will.”

…

Three months later, Emily and I moved into a small apartment closer to both our workplaces.

It wasn’t luxurious.

The kitchen was tiny.

The dining table only had four chairs.

But every evening, no matter how busy we were…

We waited for each other before eating.

Sometimes dinner was nothing more than noodles.

Sometimes takeout.

Sometimes burnt fried rice because I insisted on cooking.

Emily always laughed.

“It tastes terrible.”

“I know.”

“But we’re eating together.”

She would smile and pick up her chopsticks anyway.

One rainy evening, while sharing a bowl of homemade soup, she suddenly looked at me.

“What are you thinking?”

I smiled.

“I’m thinking…”

“For half a year, I believed I was working hard to give you a better life.”

I reached across the table and held her hand.

“In reality…”

“The life you wanted wasn’t more money.”

“It was simply someone who noticed whether you had eaten.”

She squeezed my hand gently.

Outside, the rain continued to fall.

Inside our little apartment, the soup was still hot.

And for the first time in a very long time…

Neither of us had to eat alone.