Chapter 1

For five years, I sold my restaurant's extra meals to sanitation workers and delivery workers for 2 dollars a box.

On holidays, I would gather them and treat them to a proper meal.

This Thanksgiving, I decided to take a day off.

However, Rosalia Gibson, one of the regulars who had been eating my cheap meals for five years, showed up at my door with a group of people blocking the entrance.

She said, "If you close, who's gonna cook for us?

"You always say it's charity work, but you've been making money and building your reputation off us. Now you're tired and want to dump us, aren't you?"

I gritted my teeth and agreed to stay open, thinking one more meal wouldn't hurt.

The next day, they were lying right outside my restaurant. "After eating your food yesterday, I had stomach pain all night. Take us to the hospital now.

"Otherwise, we'll stay here every day. Your fifty-year-old restaurant will be ruined sooner or later."

I held back my anger and drove them to the hospital.

Unexpectedly, I came across a video online in the evening. In it, someone said, "The owner of Howard's Kitchen isn't as nice as you think. She's been giving us spoiled food and rotten ingredients all along."

The comment section was full of people attacking me. Some showed up and vandalized my restaurant.

Seeing my family's legacy on the verge of collapse, I made a call. "Mr. Garrett, I'm ready to sell the restaurant."

*****

"Tanya, if you close, where are we supposed to eat?" Rosalia hurried over and blocked the door as I tried to close it. Behind her were more than a dozen sanitation workers and delivery workers who came here almost every day.

Now they were all staring at me with anger.

I locked the door and rubbed my forehead.

For the past five years, I hadn't taken a single day off, so they could have a fresh meal. They all looked healthy thanks to me.

I only wanted one day off to go home for Thanksgiving, and yet they expected me to stay and cook for them.

I held back my anger and forced a smile. "Mrs. Gibson, this is my restaurant. I have the right to close whenever I want."

"Just because it's your restaurant doesn't mean you can leave us without food whenever you feel like it.

"Besides, we've been eating your food for five years, and we're used to it. Now you quit out of nowhere. Did you think about us?" Rosalia said confidently.

My head was buzzing. I was speechless.

To them, helping them was what I was supposed to do, and if I didn't, I was automatically the bad guy.

Seeing me stay silent, a large-built delivery woman squeezed her way forward.

It was Grace Logan, who'd been mooching free meals for years.

She planted one hand on her hip and jabbed a finger at my nose. "Tanya, how can you be so ungrateful? If it weren't for us promoting you for free, your business wouldn't have been so good."

The people around her started chiming in. "Yeah. You made all that money. You should repay us."

I clenched my fists.

Their so-called promotion was bringing half the city's sanitation workers and delivery workers here to buy 2-dollar meals.

As for the booming business, it was because this was a fifty-year-old restaurant with good taste, fair prices, and a solid reputation.

I said, "Mrs. Logan, are the people you bring in actually customers?"

"Of course. Are you denying our contribution?" Grace yelled, her body shaking. "Tanya, you have us to thank for being able to buy that house. We asked you to cook, and you refused. What an ungrateful brat."

Grace's face went red with anger, and everyone around her was glaring at me.

Rosalia stepped forward, gave me a look of disdain, and said, "Tanya, you're going to cook this meal whether you like it or not. Otherwise—"

She paused deliberately, flashed a smug grin at me, then turned to the others. "We'll report you for poor hygiene. They'll probably shut you down for a proper inspection, won't they?"

Then she took out some photos of my kitchen.

It turned out that when they had volunteered to help me wash the dishes, their real purpose was to get these photos.

They knew that I cared most about the reputation of this fifty-year-old restaurant.

A cold shiver ran down my spine.

Rosalia kept pointing at me and talking nonstop, like she was about to eat me alive.

I remembered a freezing winter five years ago, when Rosalia had a rock-hard piece of bread in her hand.

She was curled up outside in a corner, rubbing her hands and stuffing the bread into her mouth.

At that moment, I felt a pang in my chest. I invited Rosalia in and made her a meal.

She was so moved that tears streamed down her face, and she insisted on giving me a crumpled 2-dollar bill.

From then on, I made sure to save her a meal every day, only asking for 2 dollars. More and more people came after that, and even though I was losing money, I always welcomed them.

And now, they were teaming up against me, threatening to call the health department on me.

I took a deep breath and slowly unclenched my fists. "Mrs. Gibson, I'll cook for you today, but tomorrow, I have to go home."

Seeing me agree, Rosalia handed me a piece of paper. "We've already written out the menu."

The whole list was nothing but fancy, high-end dishes.

I clenched the paper until it was wrinkled.

Then I gritted my teeth and stood up, walking away.

Rosalia's mocking voice came from behind. "See? You still have to do it anyway."

I spent over one thousand dollars on ingredients and cooked for two hours before finally serving the dishes.

An hour later, everyone was full and happy.

Rosalia leaned back, looking satisfied.

Suddenly, someone beside her grabbed his stomach, his face twisted in pain. "Ah, my stomach hurts so bad."

A few others followed suit, groaning and clutching their stomachs.

Rosalia stood up suddenly, her voice sharp and loud. "Tanya, what did you put in our food?"

Her voice hurt my ears. I rubbed them, feeling annoyed.

I tore off my apron and threw it onto the table. "You've got what you wanted. What more do you want from me?"

Grace stepped up. "What do you mean? We got sick eating at your place. Shouldn't you take responsibility?"