"Godfather, Godmother, you've had such a long day. Let me make dinner tonight."
She was always like this—so considerate, so eager to help with chores, always offering to massage my parents' shoulders or rub their feet.
My dad loved comparing us.
"Look at Sabina! If you had half her sense, we'd be grateful!"
But the truth was, every time Sabina volunteered to help, my parents never actually let her do anything. She was a guest, after all. How could we make a guest do housework?
Sure enough, the moment Sabina put the vegetables in the basin, my mom shooed her out.
"Go watch TV. Maisie can help me wash these."
I rolled up my sleeves and walked into the kitchen. "Mom, Sabina's offered to cook for us so many times, but I've never actually eaten anything she's made."
"Today's the perfect chance for her to show off her skills. Go rest—I've got this."
I nudged my mom out of the kitchen, then called over my shoulder.
"What are you standing there for? Get cooking."
Only then did Sabina reluctantly tie on an apron.
She actually managed to put together four dishes—all my parents' favorites.
Now they adored her even more.