I thanked her politely, taking the dish with trembling hands. I should have suspected that my “welcome meal” would be only the first of many culinary disasters.
First Taste of Disaster
Later that evening, I opened the lasagna she had brought. It had collapsed into a strange crater in the middle. The cheese was rubbery, the noodles a weird combination of mushy and burnt, and a mysterious odor wafted up from the dish. One bite was enough to make me realize I was in trouble—but I couldn’t bring myself to offend her.
When she returned the next morning, I lied.
“Oh, it was delicious! Thank you so much, Evelyn!” I said, forcing a smile.
Her face lit up in pure joy, and at that moment, I sealed my fate.
Weeks of Culinary Torture
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