No More Free Lunches， I Dumped My Greedy Coworker's Meal Prep in the Trash

I meal prepped for my coworker for three years, and she paid me ten dollars each time. I cooked every single day, using only the finest ingredients. The cost of each meal was at least fifteen to sixteen dollars. I lost over two thousand dollars of my own money over those three years, but I figured we were coworkers, so why count pennies? Until today, when I overheard her talking to someone else in the breakroom. "She’s definitely pocketing a profit. Why else would she make me food every single day? She’s just cheap, trying to squeeze every cent out of me." I walked back to my desk, pulled her bento box out, and dumped the entire lunch into the trash. When she came back and saw the empty bento box, she demanded, "Where's my food?" I looked up. "From today on, buy your own. I’m done making a profit off you." The breakroom door was slightly ajar. I stood outside with my mug in hand, my hand freezing on the doorknob. Chloe's voice drifted out from inside. "She makes me lunch every single day. You think she isn’t getting a kickback? All those 'premium ingredients' she talks about don’t even sound real." "I bet she just buys the cheapest stuff from the supermarket and hypes it up to sound fancy." The other voice belonged to Ashley, a coworker from my department. She lowered her voice and asked: "Really? I mean, the food always looks so good." "Good? Please." Chloe let out a scoff. "Let me tell you, that stuff is definitely not fresh. It’s probably the clearance food the supermarket tries to get rid of at night. Why else would she be so willing to do it every day?" "Do the math. Ten bucks a meal. She’s making at least a five-dollar profit off me. Five dollars a day is over a hundred a month. Over three years? That adds up to a lot. She’s calculating." I heard Ashley hesitate for a moment. "But she eats the same food herself. Surely she wouldn’t eat garbage?" "Who knows? Maybe she makes a separate, better batch for herself." Chloe's tone was filled with absolute certainty. "I only keep eating her food to save her some face." "Honestly, I’m so sick of it. It’s the same few dishes over and over. Who can stand that? I was just too polite to say anything." Ashley laughed. "Then why do you keep letting her do it?" "It’s been three years. If I suddenly tell her to stop, it would be so awkward. Plus, knowing her, if I stop, she’ll definitely go behind my back and call me ungrateful." I stood frozen in the hallway. The water in my mug had gone completely cold. A wave of pure disgust welled up in my stomach. Three years. Over a thousand working days. I got up at six-thirty every single morning to pick out the freshest ingredients at the local market. I washed, chopped, stir-fried, and simmered, packing the food into two bento boxes—one for her, one for myself. Three years ago, on a Tuesday afternoon, she told me her stomach was in terrible shape. Her doctor had told her to stop eating takeout. She said she lived alone and absolutely hated cooking. I had just gotten an endoscopy back then and received the exact same warning from my doctor, which was why I started bringing my own lunch to work. She was the one who approached me first. "Nora, your lunch smells amazing." "Can I join your meal prep? I’ll pay you for each meal." Back then, she offered to pay me ten dollars a meal. I didn’t refuse. I thought, we are coworkers, and helping each other out is just what people do. Back then, her face was pale and sickly, her cheekbones jutting out. She had no energy when she spoke, clearly worn down by her stomach issues. Looking at her, I remembered my own worst days when I couldn't keep any food down and lost fifteen pounds. So, I started spending an extra forty minutes every morning making her portion. The organic heritage pork ribs were bought from a specialized butcher. They cost twice as much as regular pork, but the meat was tender, not greasy, and very gentle on the stomach. Just the ingredients alone, not counting water, electricity, gas, or my own labor, cost at least fifteen to sixteen dollars.And I only charged her ten. For three whole years. I didn't care about that five-dollar difference, and I never once thought about making money off her. I just knew her stomach was bad. I knew how painful that was, and I wanted to help. Her health did get much better, and she even put on some healthy weight. I was actually happy for her. And now, she was standing in the breakroom, telling someone else that I was scamming her with cheap food. Saying my food wasn't fresh. Saying she was sick of it. Saying she was doing me a favor by eating it. I pushed the breakroom door open. Chloe's voice stopped instantly. She spun around, her relaxed face freezing into sheer panic. "Nora? Oh, are you here to get water too?" I didn’t look at her. I walked straight to the water dispenser, poured out the cold water in my mug, and refilled it with hot water. Ashley had already slipped out. Only Chloe and I were left in the room. She stood there, clutching her mug, the fake smile on her face completely falling apart as she tried to explain: "We were just chatting... don't take it personally..." I still didn't say a word. I took my mug and walked out. Back at my desk, I set the mug down, pulled open my drawer, and took out the pink bento box that belonged to Chloe. I was the one who bought that bento box. When she said she didn't have a good one, I went to the store and picked it out for her. The box was still warm. Inside was the lunch I had made this morning. I popped the lid off. The steam rose, carrying the rich aroma of the braised ribs. Luke, who sat next to me, glanced over and whispered, "Are those ribs again? Smells incredible." I didn’t reply. I walked over to the trash can with the bento box and dumped all the food straight into it. Then I went back to my desk, opened my own bento box, and started eating. I had made the exact same thing for myself today. The ribs were tender and perfectly cooked. I ate slowly, bite by bite, telling myself not to get angry. She wasn’t worth it. Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Chloe was back. She walked to her desk, saw the pink bento box, and let out a sigh of relief. She sat down, opening the lid with a forced laugh: "What is it today? Let me tell you, even though your food is okay, you should really change things up. I'm getting a bit tired of the same stuff."She pulled the lid off. She froze. The bento box was completely empty, save for a tiny smear of sauce on the inside of the lid. She looked up at me. I was looking down, quietly eating my own lunch. "Nora, where's my food?" Her voice pitched up. I picked up a rib, chewed it slowly, swallowed, and finally looked at her. "From today on, buy your own. I’m done making a profit off you." Her face flushed bright red, then turned incredibly pale. Her eyes widened. "What is that supposed to mean?" "It means my food isn’t good enough for you." I set my forks down. "Didn't you say I was getting kickbacks? Didn't you say my food wasn't fresh? Didn't you say you were sick of it? I'm just saving you the trouble." "When did I ever say that?!" she shrieked. I just stared at her, silent. Her eyes flickered with guilt, but she quickly turned defensive and self-righteous: "Even if I said something, it was obviously just a joke! Do you have to be so dramatic? You threw my food away? I paid for that! That’s ten dollars!" "Ten dollars." I pulled my phone out of my pocket. "Hold on." I opened my PayPal app and pulled up the transaction history. Every single payment of hers was ten dollars, filling the screen. I did some quick math. Over three years, she had transferred me nearly three thousand dollars. I found the most recent transaction and sent her back twenty dollars. "That's for today and tomorrow. Refunded." I put my phone down. "Don't send me any more money." "Nora, don't you think you're being way too dramatic?" Her voice grew louder, drawing the attention of several nearby coworkers. "We’ve been friends for three years, and you throw my food away over some gossip? Do you have any idea what I’m going to eat for lunch now?" "Do you know what time I get up every morning?" I asked her. She blinked, caught off guard. "Six-thirty." "I go to the market, buy the ingredients, cook them, pack the boxes, and take the subway to work." "A single portion costs fifteen to sixteen dollars to make. You pay me ten." I paused. "I took that loss for three years and never said a word because I thought we were friends. I knew your stomach was bad, and I wanted to help." I looked her dead in the eye. "Today, I heard you in the breakroom. You said I was taking kickbacks, using stale ingredients, and that you only ate my food to give me face." "I didn't say it like that..." She began to step back. "You said I was calculating, making money off both ends, and pocketing five dollars a day from you." I repeated her words calmly. "Chloe, I’ve been losing my own money for three years to feed you, and you think I'm exploiting you?" The office was so quiet you could hear the hum of the air conditioner. Chloe’s face turned the color of raw liver. She bit her lip, and tears began to well up in her eyes. "Nora, I swear I was just talking trash. I didn't mean it. Please don't be like this. I know you've been good to me. I won't say things like that anymore, okay?" She cried pitifully, her tears splashing onto the empty bento box. If this were before, my heart would have softened. In the past, whenever she cried, I would immediately back down. She would complain about her family, her work, her relationships, and she would always end up crying. I would always listen patiently, offer advice, and try to help her. For three years, I wasn't just her meal prep partner; I was her emotional trash can. But now, watching her cry, I felt nothing but disgust. "What are you crying for?" My voice was dead calm. "I’m the one who should be crying." She looked up, sniffling. "For three years, you never once asked me if cooking all this was exhausting, or if ten dollars even covered the ingredients." "You just opened the box and ate every day. When you were done, you just left it on your desk without even rinsing it. I had to take two dirty boxes home every single night, wash them, and bring them back full the next day." "If you were so sick of my food, why didn’t you say so earlier? I could have saved myself so much trouble." "From today on, you don't have to do me any favors."