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.

After the fried chicken incident, Simon's parents strictly prohibited Owen from eating any more "unhealthy food". The dinner table was now filled with traditional home-cooked meals like pot roast, meatloaf, and baked fish every night.

During mealtimes, Owen would force himself to eat while frowning at his plate. However, I had secretly stocked his room with kid-friendly snacks.

At 2:00 am, we would sneak to the stairwell for midnight feasts. I would wait until Owen finished before going back to bed.

"Owen, this is our secret. You can't tell anyone else," I whispered.

He looked at me with gratitude in his eyes. "Mom, you're so nice. You're way nicer than Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa."

Under my secret feeding operation, Owen gained about 30 pounds in just two months.

Irene was pleased with herself, saying, "See, Owen? Grandma's cooking is the most nutritious, isn't it? Just listen to me and stay away from that junk food."

This became our unspoken secret. In this life, I had successfully created an image of the "caring mother" in Owen's eyes.

Unlike my previous life, he no longer rejected me, but I knew the road ahead was long. Nonetheless, I could be patient.

Since fate had given me a second chance, I was determined to witness the downfall of the Lincoln family. However, during this time, I discovered one of Simon's secrets.

Just like in my previous life, Simon kept my infertility test results in the bedroom nightstand drawer. But this time, I found more than just my medical records.

In a hidden compartment of the nightstand, I discovered a hospital bill with Simon's name on it. It was from the men's urology department, indicating that Simon had gotten a vasectomy. This also explained why he could so readily admit the fertility problems were his fault.

As a result, I seriously doubted the truth about my supposed infertility. The next morning, I made an excuse to go to the hospital for a complete physical examination.

After receiving my results, I finally understood that Simon's family had plotted this. I threw the test results in a hospital trash can and acted as if nothing had happened.

When I reached our front door, I heard intense arguing from inside. I paused to listen—Irene had discovered the snacks I had hidden in Owen's room.

"So this is why you hate eating the meals at home? I slave away in the kitchen making different meals daily, and you're hiding in your room eating junk food! Owen, how could you do this to me?" Irene's voice was choked with emotion.

I savored the taste of what I had experienced in my previous life, but this was nowhere near enough.

Jack joined in, playing good cop to her bad cop. "Owen, you need to listen to us. You're still growing and shouldn't eat so much of this stuff."

Sadly, Owen had always been stubborn, and he certainly wouldn't listen to Simon's parents. Sure enough, he stood his ground defiantly.

"I like eating these things, and you can't stop me! You're not my parents, so what right do you have to control me?"

Irene lost her temper and slapped Owen across the face.

Her action completely enraged him, and he shoved her hard. "You old hag, why did you hit me?"

After watching enough of this drama unfold, I slowly took out my keys and opened the door. As soon as Owen saw me, he ran over, crying, "Mom, she hit me!"

I gently touched his cheek with concern. Then, I turned to Irene, sounding upset as I asked, "Mom, how could you hit Owen? He's just a child. How could you strike him so hard?"

Irene stood with her hands on her hips, speaking angrily, "What do you know? I'm doing this for his own good! Look at him—he's gained over 50 pounds in such a short time!

"He's still a kid, but he's already about 150 pounds! From today on, he's not getting any more snacks!"

Jack suddenly seemed to realize something. "We never gave Owen any allowance money. You're the one who bought him all these snacks, aren't you?"

I ignored him and took a cold water bottle from the fridge to press against Owen's cheek. Only after the swelling started to go down did I let out a sigh of relief.

Jack became even more furious at my silence and rolled up his sleeves like he was ready to take matters into his own hands. "Fine! If Simon won't, I'll teach you a lesson myself!"

But before he could take a step, he froze in place. Owen had jumped in front of me, arms spread wide, shielding me. His small frame was trembling, but he stood his ground and shouted, "You're not allowed to bully Mom!"

My heart leaped with joy as I struggled to suppress a smile. Owen had completely taken my side now; in the future, he would become my sharpest weapon against his own family.

I blinked my eyes, forcing out a few tears, and pulled Owen back. "Mom, Dad, if you want to blame someone, blame me.

"But please don't be angry with Owen. I admit I bought him all these snacks, but I didn't mean any harm. I just saw that he enjoyed them, so I bought him more."

"It's my fault for not monitoring his weight," I continued with a remorseful tone. "How about this—starting today, I'll help Owen begin a weight loss program."

Simon's parents' expressions finally softened somewhat. Not wanting to make the situation worse, Irene suggested, "Fine. From now on, take Owen jogging with you after dinner."