It didn’t happen overnight. The shift was small at first. Subtle. Like someone had peeled away a layer of fog I didn’t even know I’d been walking through.

Chef Conrad didn’t yell the next morning. He didn’t sneer when I accidentally sliced my truffles too thin. He didn’t call my name like it was a slur on his tongue.

Instead, he nodded. Once.

Not a compliment. Not forgiveness. But acknowledgement.

And it was enough.

For weeks, I’d braced myself for the next blow, the next ...