share time: 2026-02-08 06:02:50
At my son's admission banquet, relatives sneered at his junior college acceptance letter, calling him "hopeless" and saying he was "inferior to the neighbor's kid in a 985 university". I held back my anger until my cousin slammed the table and proposed a bet—whoever could get the restaurant's reserved VIP room would have the right to talk about "future". Everyone waited to laugh at me, but they didn't know I was a chef here twenty years ago, and the boss was the young apprentice I saved back then. When the boss bowed and called me "Master's Wife" before leading us to the VIP room, I raised my glass with a smile: "My son chose culinary arts; he's going to be a top chef—that's his real future." The room fell silent, and my son gripped my hand with teary eyes.
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