“What are you keeping from me? Is it good or bad?”
Winifred’s heart tightened, and she quickly explained, “Nothing, that’s just a hypothetical. If I were hiding something, would you be angry?”
She wouldn’t ask this suddenly unless she truly had something unspeakable she didn’t want him to know. Garrison felt a mix of emotions; he wasn’t angry, for he was very forgiving, only getting upset over principle issues.
Garrison pondered what secrets Winifred was hiding would actually anger him and concluded probably nothing.
He was good-tempered, especially towards Winifred, as if he could tolerate anything she did.
“I shouldn’t get angry. You can tell me if you want to, and if you don’t want to, that’s okay too. I respect you, and as long as you are okay, it’s fine. But if you have any problems, I hope you would tell me proactively rather than waiting for me to find out. I am your boyfriend and I have the capability to help you handle and resolve it.”
Hearing Garrison say this, Winifred breathed a sigh of relief and grabbed his hand, “Then will you always trust me?”
“Of course, I will,” Garrison said without hesitation, and then he continued, “So, why are you suddenly asking me these questions today? Did something happen during the two days I wasn’t here?”
“If there really was something, I’d tell you later.”
“Okay.”
Winifred let go of his hand, “You go on with your work. I’ll stay home today and wait for you.”
Garrison nodded and examined Winifred carefully without being noticed, only to see her face relaxed without the previous struggle. Clearly, something had happened over the past two days. But since she chose not to tell him, he wouldn’t press her.
Garrison took off his apron. He was wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his robust forearms, ready to head out. The weather was cooler today, so he went back to his room, grabbed a dark suit jacket, draped it over his arm, and after saying goodbye to Winifred, he left with his keys and phone in hand.
Winifred watched him from the doorway until the door closed. She then took out her phone to check the messages. The man had not sent anything after that threatening message.
Ignoring him was not an option; she didn’t know this person, but from the incident that night and his messages, she could easily deduce that this man had a bad temper and was aggressive. If she ignored him, who knows, he might actually go after Garrison.
She would tell Garrison herself, but she wasn’t ready just yet, unsure how to start.
Winifred frowned, her mind heavy with unresolved worries. After a long deliberation, her fingers trembled as she began to type a message.
“Can you wait two days? I’m not feeling well; I have a cold.”
She was yielding; a direct confrontation wouldn’t work; if she clashed with him, she would be the one to suffer.
Winifred waited but got no reply. Perhaps he hadn’t seen it?
Feeling anxious, she decided to go back to her room to lie down when her phone vibrated. She opened it to see a simple message from the man.
“Rest well.”
These words startled Winifred. Given what she knew of his temper, rough and tough, it seemed unlikely he would say something so gentle.
Rest well? If he could just let her be, she truly could rest well. But obviously, that was impossible.
So what was this? A carrot and a stick? Such actions only disgusted her more.
She simply could not comprehend what the man was planning to do. Sometimes, she wished he would make a swift and decisive end to it all, so she wouldn’t have to live in such fear.
Winifred threw her phone onto the bed, and lay down herself, pulling the covers over her head in an attempt to escape reality.
Meanwhile, Leland held his phone, a frown forming when he read Winifred’s message about feeling unwell due to a cold, concern flickering in his eyes.
Years had passed, and though Winifred’s face had changed, her body remained as delicate as ever, prone to illness. That night, however, he had been too harsh on her. Had he known it was Winifred, he certainly wouldn’t have treated her that way.
Now, it was too late to repent. Rather than dwelling on them, it was better to think about how to make amends.
When problems arise, the most important thing is to think of solutions, not to sit around regretting the past; that’s the least productive reaction.
Over the years, it was this rational approach that had helped Leland overcome numerous challenges.
Leland sent Winifred a message back. Since she was sick, he wouldn’t force her to go out these next few days. Pushing someone too hard could have dire consequences-after all, even a cornered rabbit will bite. If things were to truly fall apart, then it would be impossible to fix them later.
“Wayne, hurry up and finish your meal… You have so much left, and look, Shawn is almost done,” came a maid’s gentle coaxing voice from the dining room.
The two boys were at an age of picky eating, preferring to clutch their bottles than eat properly. Shawn, the younger son, was introverted; even if picky, he feared Leland’s scolding and obediently swallowed his food.
But the older son, Wayne, was a different story. Clever and mischievous, he didn’t learn from his lessons and repeatedly made the same mistakes, favoring meat and disliking vegetables. At three years old, he was plump as a little ball.
Today, the chef had prepared their least favorite dish-bitter melon. The younger son, Shawn, strategically ate the worst part first, then washed it down with large gulps of milk, quickly finishing the remaining food in his bowl.
As for Shawn, he did the opposite, eating what he liked first and leaving the rest, which he disliked, in his bowl. Whenever the maid wasn’t looking, he would dump it in the trash. After being tricked a few times, the maid caught on and kept a close watch during meals.
Picky eating was a bad habit, and wasting food was even worse.
Wayne stared at the bitter melon in his bowl; his chubby face almost turned into one.
“Auntie, I don’t like bitter melon. Can I not eat it?” he asked, holding a small spoon with his plump hand propping his round chin, his large round eyes looking pitifully at the nanny.
The nanny averted her gaze, her tone stern, “No, you must eat it. If you don’t, and your father sees how much you’ve left, he’ll be angry.”
Wayne, terrified of his father’s anger, shuddered slightly, his spirits dampened, “But I don’t like bitter melon. Why did uncle have to make it today.”
“Bitter melon is good for you.”
Wayne picked up his spoon again and poked at the green bitter melon in his bowl, then glanced at Shawn’s bowl, which was nearly empty, having already eaten his portion of bitter melon. Seizing the moment, he grabbed Shawn’s smaller bowl and dumped all his portion into Shawn’s bowl.
“ShawnShawn, Auntie says bitter melon is good for you, so you should eat more.”