Chapter 85

Emily Johnson was planning her idyllic countryside life but hadn't quite mastered the art of gardening yet. What vegetables should be planted in which season? She had no clue.

"I remember you like cabbage noodles. I’ll sow some cabbage seeds in the corner of the yard," Michael Stone said as he cleaned the rabbit. "And some peas too—we can pick the tender shoots for noodles later."

"Whatever you think is best," Emily replied absentmindedly.

She truly knew nothing about farming. This land would rely entirely on him. Even the original owner’s memories held no knowledge of agricultural work.

"Emily, how should we cook the rabbit?" Michael asked, holding up the cleaned meat.

"Ginger rabbit?" The words slipped out before she could stop herself. Her heart skipped a beat. How would an amnesiac know this dish? Maybe dry pot rabbit would’ve been safer.

"Sure." Michael agreed without hesitation.

He didn’t suspect a thing?

At dinner, the aroma of ginger rabbit filled the air. Emily took a bite—spicy, savory, and perfectly seasoned.

"You’re really good at cooking."

Michael’s lips curved slightly. "I learn fast. Had this dish at a restaurant last time."

"Daddy, spicy!" Tommy stuck out his tongue, hopping in place.

"Drink some water." Michael hurriedly poured water for the kids, forgetting they couldn’t handle heat.

"But the meat’s yummy!" David happily munched away.

Michael noticed his wife had a particular fondness for this spicy dish.

Late at night, the sound of raindrops pattering against the roof grew louder.

"Emily! Emily!"

She jolted awake to urgent calls. Outside, the storm raged, but inside—dripping water?

"Who—?"

"Mommy!"

The children’s cries snapped her fully awake.

"Emily, the kids’ room is leaking! How’s yours?"

Leaking? Emily bolted out of bed.

She flung open the door to find Michael rushing in, clutching two soaked little figures.

"The roof tiles are old. Heavy rain outside means light rain inside."

The kerosene lamp flickered to life. The boys, now stripped down, burrowed under the blankets, shivering.

If they weren’t dried off, they’d catch a cold!

"Stay with them. I’ll get buckets," Michael said, turning to leave.

Emily grabbed his arm. "In this downpour?"

"If we don’t, where will the three of us sleep later?"

The brick-tile house had only three rooms—two bedrooms, a main hall, plus a kitchen, bathroom, and woodshed.

"Fine..."

Emily turned to grab towels. The boys’ hair was still dripping.

"Mommy..."

"Cold?"

"Not cold! Come sleep with us!"

Dawn was still hours away. The little ones had been half-asleep when carried over.

"Okay."