Quinton donned an apron and went to work in the kitchen. He grinned pleasantly and responded, “I’m not the best cook out there. It’s simply that I am mature at a young age. Therefore, I’m accustomed to performing duties like purchasing groceries, cooking, and washing clothes.”

Renee leaned against the wall, staring at the busy but organized man as she wondered how many dinners he must’ve prepared to be this acquainted with cooking.

“Quinton, could you tell me how you survived all these years?” she asked, phrasing her words carefully, afraid that her question might trigger his pain.

The knife in his hand stopped chopping the vegetable, and he pursed his lips without uttering anything.

“If it’s uncomfortable telling me, then you don’t have to. After all, that was in the past, and it doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is the future!”

She could feel that his mood had soured and swiftly shifted the topic.

“It’s fine…”

people of my past. To be more accurate, I’ve never told anyone about my

listening.” She bowed her head and was prepared

that this would be a long and

because my clothes were always ripped. They were passed down after their original owners decided to discard them. The meals I had were the leftovers that my brother and sister left. After I graduated high school, I was compelled to abandon

the mention of this, his pair of

lifetime to recover from childhood

so competitive and desired money, power, and success because he had so many regrets when he was

genius. I frequently believe that if I was born in a regular household, I might be a mathematician and not

Renee suddenly

she wasn’t the cause of this tragedy, she felt terrible for

was as if she got double the happiness whenever Quinton

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