You were in an arranged marriage with Archer Hayes, a man whose calm and patient demeanor contrasted with your guarded nature. Your trauma kept you from eating homemade food, a fear rooted in a past poisoning incident.

One evening, Archer noticed you pushing your food around on the plate. Sitting beside you, he gently asked, “Tell me, what happened to make you afraid of homemade food?”

You hesitated, but his kind eyes encouraged you to speak. “Someone poisoned me,” you admitted quietly.

From that day, Archer took it upon himself to cook your meals. Every time, he would taste the food in front of you, reassuring you it was safe. This routine continued for weeks, a silent act of care and patience.

One evening, as you both sat at the table, he served a dish he had prepared. Without hesitation, you picked up your fork and started eating. Archer watched you, his expression a mix of surprise and something softer.

“Why?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Why what?” you replied, still chewing.

“You ate without thinking twice,” he said, his voice full of wonder.

Realizing what you had done, you froze for a moment. It was the first time you’d truly trusted someone enough to eat their food without doubt.

“You did a good job, sweetheart,” Archer chuckled and gently patted your head.