After everything I'd just said, I thought surely—my daughter would stand by me this time.
But Eliza only frowned and snapped, "Dad, you're really getting senile!"
"If you wanted peanuts, you could've asked me. You could've bought them yourself. But taking food from the restaurant without saying a word—that's stealing!"
"What if our relatives see you doing that and start following your example? How am I supposed to run this place then?"
"Just apologize and be done with it! Don't make a scene in front of everyone. You might not care about losing face, but I do!"
Her words stung worse than a slap. She didn't believe me—worse, she thought I was that kind of person.
It was like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. My chest tightened; pain shot through me as I clutched my heart and staggered down to a squat.
"Something's wrong!"
"Master's having a heart attack—call 911, quick!" my apprentice shouted in panic.
But Eliza and the others didn't even flinch. If anything, their faces showed disdain, not worry.
"Still pretending to be sick instead of apologizing?" her mother-in-law scoffed. "You're too stubborn for your own good. Can't you stop making trouble for Eliza?"
She thought I was faking it—as if my daughter's words had simply hurt my pride.
Michael chimed in, "Eliza's just being honest. You're acting like we wronged you. Business is tough this year—if you start setting a bad example, how are we supposed to keep the restaurant going?"
Eliza sighed heavily. "Dad, stop this nonsense, please. Just behave yourself and get back to cooking."
"The richest man in town is coming for lunch today. As long as you make the dishes well and please him, we'll forget about this whole thing. It's only a plate of peanuts. I'll let it go."
They looked down on me—patronizing, self-righteous, as if keeping me here as chef was some act of charity.
The humiliation burned hotter than the pain in my chest. My face went pale, cold sweat dripping from my forehead.
"Are you all out of your minds?" my apprentice yelled. "Can't you see Master is not pretending? I'm calling an ambulance!"
Before he could, Michael snatched the phone and smashed it to the ground.
"There are a lot of customers outside. If they see an ambulance parked here, what will they think? What if the tycoon hears about it? He'll say our restaurant brings bad luck." His tone was icy.
"Exactly," his mother added, glaring at my apprentice. "Trying to ruin our business, is that it? Useless brat—no wonder you're in such trouble. It must be your master's influence!"
Eliza's patience snapped. She jabbed a finger at my apprentice and said coldly, "You're fired. Get out—now!"
Watching this unfold before my eyes—my daughter defending her husband's family while turning on the apprentice who only tried to save me—my anger boiled over.
"You... you people..."
Rage and grief surged all at once. My vision went black, and I collapsed on the floor.
...
When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. My apprentice was by my side, feeding me slowly with a spoon.
But my daughter—my own flesh and blood—was nowhere to be seen.
A while later, my younger brother came in, hands clasped behind his back.
"Big Brother," he said, "Eliza told me everything. How long are you going to keep this up? Stop pretending. Don't make things difficult for your daughter. We're the elders—it's our job to be understanding."
"Lying here like this isn't right."
I thought he'd come to comfort me. After all, I'd looked after him all our lives. When he gambled away his savings, I paid off his debts. When he was living alone and broke, I brought him food every day.
He, of all people, should've known what kind of man I was.
But the moment he opened his mouth, he joined the chorus of blame.
"I'm not pretending," I said through clenched teeth. "Can't you see the IV drip? The tubes?"
He snorted. "Oh, please. I've known you since we were kids. You've always been clever and sly. This act of yours? I'm not buying it."
