The Burnt Pot
It was the second month of their marriage. Daniel had left for a conference in Port Harcourt,Favour finally decided to try for real.
No YouTube shortcuts, No orders, she would make ogbono soup properly.
She watched three videos, called her mom twice, took pictures of the pot, and still… something went terribly wrong.
She forgot the oil the soup clumped, she overcompensated with salt, the taste was bitter, It burned slightly at the base.
She panicked.
"Mama," she cried on the phone. "What do I do?!"
"Throw it away!" her mother barked. "No remedy! Buy new stockfish, start again."
"There's no time! Daniel is almost home!"
"Then go and buy from eatery that's what you always do, abi?"
Click.
The call ended
The shame stuck like pepper on her fingers,
She wrapped the burnt pot in nylon, sprayed air freshener, and rushed out to her usual food spot,She was able to made it home just before Daniel arrived, as always, he smiled, kissed her forehead, and dug into his "wife's cooking."
But something was different that night.
He paused. "Tastes… familiar."
Favour forced a smile. "I guess I'm improving."
He nodded, chewing slower than usual.
And for the first time, Favour wondered if he suspected.