I tried to learn how to cook. Over and over again. But I kept failing. Mushy rice, bland chicken, tasteless soup. Charlos never complained, but his silence was louder than any criticism.
On his birthday, I decided to make his favorite dish chicken curry. It failed, again. I broke down in tears, not just because of the food, but because I felt like I had failed as a wife.
Then Charlos hugged me and said, “I married you, not the kitchen.” That sentence so simple hit deep and lifted the weight off my heart.
Since then, I’ve been learning slowly. Not just about spices and heat, but about accepting that love doesn’t need perfection only honesty and the courage to keep trying.
...even if nothing else has worked before.