I had given Owen the best of everything in my previous life because I did not want him to feel burdened. However, what I thought was care and love became chains of restraint in his eyes.

His gaze toward me gradually shifted from genuine gratitude to indifference, and eventually to hatred. Of course, Simon's parents and Simon himself played their part in fostering that transformation.

I decided to step back in this life. Whatever Owen became would have nothing to do with me, Eunice Campbell.

During dinner time, Simon guided me to the kitchen, urging me to start preparing the meal. I turned to look at Owen and said, "What's the rush? We haven't even asked Owen what he'd like to eat yet."

Simon smacked his forehead as realization hit him. "You're right! I completely forgot about that. Owen, what would you like to eat? Tell us, and we'll make it for you."

A knowing smile played on my lips. What did he like to eat? Of course, I knew exactly what he wanted.

Sure enough, Owen spoke up timidly the next second. "Dad, can I have some fried chicken and a burger?"

"That's just junk food," Irene chimed in, her tone firm yet caring. "Why don't you let your mom make you some homemade pot roast instead?"

I immediately removed my apron and said, "Mom, let Owen eat what he wants. Besides, how can you say they aren't nutritious? The chicken patty is still made with real chicken, after all."

As soon as I finished speaking, Owen ran over to me. He exclaimed, "Mom, you're the best!"

Jack Lincoln's face darkened instantly as he spoke with bitter sarcasm, "Simon, I don't think you invited us to the city to enjoy family time—you just wanted to upset your mother and me!

"You've been married for so many years without any kids, and now that you've finally adopted one, you're not even raising him properly. What exactly are you trying to do?"

Irene quickly chimed in, "Exactly! I guess you just can't truly love a child who isn't your own blood."

Simon furrowed his brow and retorted, "Mom, Dad, how many times do I have to tell you? Our inability to have children isn't Eunice's fault—it's mine!"

He stormed into the bedroom and returned moments later with a hospital diagnosis report. His parents glanced at it briefly before quickly turning away, unwilling to look at it again. Then, they mumbled incoherently, unable to form a proper response.

In my previous life, Simon's act had completely fooled me. It was also why I spent 30 years slaving away for his family like a devoted servant.

I let out a cold snort and ignored the three of them. Instead, I handed my phone to Owen. "Don't listen to your grandparents' nonsense, Owen. Order whatever you want. I have money, and I'll pay for it."

Owen was still young and could not distinguish right from wrong. He only knew to bond with whoever showed him kindness. Since he yearned for this kind of affection, I would give it to him.

After placing his order, Owen thoughtfully asked his grandparents if they wanted anything. Irene shook her head with a sour expression and said, "I wouldn't eat that unhealthy junk. If you want to eat it, that's your choice."

She added sternly, "This food has no nutritional value. You can only have it this once, understood?"

Owen pressed his lips together and remained silent as he looked at Irene. I observed their interaction, noting that they did not behave like people meeting for the first time.

Perhaps they had met several times behind my back. Then again, I would not be surprised. In my previous life, I had been deceived by Simon for far too long, which was why I had missed even these small but telling signs.

When the delivery arrived, Owen eagerly grabbed a large piece of fried chicken and started devouring it. Irene looked at the food in his hands with obvious distaste before placing a piece of her homemade pot roast on his plate.

"Sweetie, try my pot roast. It's definitely better than whatever you're eating," Irene said.

However, to her surprise, Owen was not interested. He pushed the plate back toward Irene and stated, "No thanks, Grandma. You can eat it yourself."

Irene pushed the plate back in front of Owen. "Owen, please just try a little bit. I picked out the best pieces, especially for you."

Owen continued munching on his fried chicken, not even bothering to respond.

Jack chimed in from the side, "Your grandma worked so hard in the heat just to prepare this dish. Yet, this is how she's thanked..."

Simon stood up abruptly and snatched the chicken from Owen's hands. "You will finish this pot roast!"

Owen licked his lips and looked up at Simon with teary eyes. He wanted to protest but was too scared to speak up in the face of his father's anger.

I smiled slightly as I took the plate from Simon's hands. "Why are you raising your voice at the child? Can't we discuss things calmly? If Owen doesn't want to eat it, why force him?"

Simon's parents stared at me in shock. They had always known me as someone who rarely ordered takeout. After all, I had previously lectured them about how many delivery restaurants were unsanitary and sold pre-made dishes.

Moreover, I especially criticized fast food joints, warning them about their questionable kitchen conditions. Clearly, they had not expected this complete reversal in my attitude.

Owen happily resumed eating his chicken and smiled at me. "Mom, you're the best."

Was this enough? No—the best was yet to come.