The thick slices of ham on the dining table carried a smoky, salty aroma, with an enticing sheen of honey visible on their surface. The golden cornbread was soft and steaming, while the large bowl of creamy mashed potato beside it smelled even more delicious.
The long table also held roasted chicken legs, pickles, apple pie, and pumpkin porridge. Every dish looked incredibly appetizing, delicacies that even Abigail rarely got to taste when she was at home.
The little girl had been cleaned up, her face and hands washed. She sat timidly beside the table, swallowing her saliva in hunger, yet not daring to reach for any of the food.
During her time at the farm, she had come to clearly understand that any "misbehavior" or "laziness" would earn her a whipping.
Old John, the farm owner, was a burly, ruddy-faced man. Sitting at the head of the table, he wore the gentlest smile he could manage and encouraged her, "Eat, child. Don't be shy—this is to make up for it. Today must have frightened you badly, huh? Go on and eat. Get your strength back."
His wife, Maya, smiled and nodded. She took the initiative to place a slice of ham on Abigail's plate and said gently, "Don't be afraid, Sera. Eat."
Their son, Adams, sat on the other side, stealing glances at her from time to time with what he believed were subtle looks, though they were actually painfully obvious.
Abigail was starving. Amid their enthusiastic invitations and smiling faces, she finally lowered her guard and cautiously took a bite of ham, then looked up.
There was no whipping or shouting.
Everyone was watching her with smiling faces, as though she were one of the family's children too.
The unprecedented deliciousness easily conquered the hungry Abigail. Gradually, she