Our Love

CHAPTER 15

SERAPHINA'S POV

Another day of hectic work had begun. Unlike other days, I woke up at 4 a.m., haunted by another nightmare from my past.

Sweat drenched my top as I sat up, breathing heavily. I missed Bruno — his silent comfort, his warmth. Despite mom's sweet reassurances to bring him back, I never saw him again.

I stepped out into the garden opposite my room. The air was cool, the fragrance of lavenders, peonies, lilies, roses, sunflowers, chrysanthemums, and the Queen of the Night wrapping around me like a soft blanket.

For a moment, I felt comforted… until reality pulled me back. There was still work to do.

By the time the sun rose, I had tidied every corner of the house.My cooking skills had grown so much that it reached the level of Mrs. Catherine's. Alone, I helped her cook a sumptuous breakfast - lasagna, custard with bean cake, moi- moi (a new Nigerian recipe I'd mastered) apple pie and fruit juice with fruits as dessert.

Mrs. Catherine's sudden scream - on entering the kitchen, made me jump out of my skin, the spatula slipping from my hands.

Then, we both laughed so hard until tears rolled down our faces.

“Why are you up this early?” she asked, amused, wiping her tears away. “You should still be sleeping.”

“Nothing,” I replied softly. “I just wanted to help today.”

She smiled. “Oh, darling, you’re such a gem. I’m sure your husband will be proud to have someone like you one day.”

Blushing, I murmured, “Aunty, I’m just seventeen. I haven’t even reached the legal age for marriage yet."

"Alright, dear,” she said with a playful shrug. “Now, what are you making over there?”

“I made breakfast,” I said proudly.

Her eyes widened. “Wow, it smells heavenly!”

“Thank you,” I said, glowing. “That dish over there is a Nigerian meal — soft, creamy, and so irresistible it makes you crave more.”

She tasted it, her expression lighting up instantly. “Mama mia, Seraphina! You’re a true chef. This taste— even five-star restaurants can’t match it.”

Her praise made my heart flutter. When I noticed the sun rising, I quickly arranged the dishes on a tray with her help and served breakfast.

Everyone took their seats. As they began to eat, I silently crossed my fingers.

One bite. Another. Then another. The number of spoonfuls kept increasing. The silence stretched until Mom finally said, “Cathy, your meal tastes different today — in a good way. What recipe did you use?”

Mrs. Catherine smiled knowingly. “Actually, Madam, I didn’t make breakfast today. Seraphina did.”

A wave of shock washed over everyone.Heaven’s face twisted in disgust.

She pushed her chair back violently and stormed away from the table. Mom dabbed her lips with a napkin, gave me a cold, assessing look, and left as well.

Only Dad remained, finishing every last bite, then leaned back, sighing.

“It’s been so long since I’ve tasted real homemade food,” he said. “Thank you, my daughter, for reminding me what that feels like.”

He smiled warmly, patted his full belly, and before leaving, gave me a gentle peck on the forehead.

I stood frozen, tears filling my eyes. My heart warm as a normal summer day. Clutching my locket, I let them fall freely.