“Wayne…” Shawn looked bewilderedly at the half bowl of bitter melon in front of him; he didn’t like bitter melon either.
Wayne ignored Shawn’s pitiful eyes, patting his younger brother’s head with a knowing touch, “Shawn, look at you, leaving so much rice uneaten-how can you do without some side dishes? I’ll give you all the bitter melon from my bowl to help you finish your rice, and you like bitter melon, don’t you?”
“I don’t…” Shawn barely started speaking when his brother interrupted.
“You ate the bitter melon first and so quickly too; I knew right off that you loved it. Look at me, saving it till the last for you. Aren’t I good to you? Come on, eat up,” Wayne said as he pushed the bowl towards Shawn, smiling cheekily while propping his chin.
Shawn’s round eyes nearly brimmed with tears at the sight of the bitter melon, his whole demeanor like that of a wronged puppy, his face crinkled in distress, looking utterly pitiful.
“Wayne, you can’t bully Shawn like this.”
Wayne defended himself robustly, “Bully him? I’m feeling sorry for him. He’s so skinny; he needs to eat more. And didn’t you say that eating bitter melon is good for him? Shawn, if you eat the bitter melon, you might grow taller, maybe even taller than me,” he said, gesturing animatedly.
Shawn wasn’t swayed by the promise of growth from eating bitter melon. The melon in his bowl was already finished; what remained was his brother’s leftovers, and he disliked eating someone else’s leftovers, even if that someone was his brother.
Moreover, he didn’t believe the mere act of eating well would make him grow taller. He and his brother ate the same things every day; despite eating obediently and not being picky, he had not grown taller than his brother. Thinking about this made him sulk and ignore his brother.
Wayne moved closer, whispering in a coaxing tone near Shawn’s ear, “Shawn, do this for me just this once, and I’ll help you later too, I’ll even protect you.”
As his brother, Wayne never protected him; every time he made a mistake that upset their father, Wayne dragged Shawn down with him. Shawn rolled his eyes, sighed at the bitter melon in his bowl, and, despite his reluctance, picked up his spoon, convinced by his brother’s pleading.
Just as he was about to eat, a shadow loomed over him; turning his head, he saw it was their father, causing the bitter melon he had picked up to fall back into the bowl.
“Wayne, you aren’t eating properly again!” Leland said sternly.
As soon as Wayne saw his father, he immediately behaved, innocently claiming, “I am eating well, look, my bowl is clean…”
“Don’t lie, I heard everything from the living room,” Leland said, not yelling but simply adopting a stern face similar to the one he used at work, which the children could hardly withstand.
Wayne, scared, was on the verge of tears, stumbling over his words, biting his lip, his small hands nervously clasped together.
Seeing this gesture, Leland paused, reminded of Winifred who also had a habit of making such small gestures.
“Eat your meal properly, and afterward, I’ll take you to see your mother.”
At the mention of their mother, Wayne’s face lit up with shock, fear forgotten, childlike in his quick shift of focus, emotions changing swiftly.
“See our mother? Are you talking about a new mother?” At home, Leland seldom mentioned their mother. Wayne had heard plenty of rumors-some said their mother had abandoned them after birth, others claimed she had died in an accident. Being too young, he couldn’t discern the truth.
However, between the two possibilities, he preferred to believe the former: at least his mother was still alive, and there was a chance he could see her again.
He was too young to understand what “hatred” meant. In his little mind, although his mother didn’t like him and his brother, she had still given birth to them. His teacher had said that mothers are great, that giving birth is painful, and that many mothers died giving birth.
And now he and his brother were living well, with enough to eat and wear, and an nanny who took care of them, without worries-except that their father seemed more serious and colder.
Leland watched his eldest son who kept silent with his head down. He was unsure what his son was thinking, and thought he might have hit his son’s soft spot by mentioning his mother.
His sleeve was gently tugged, and Leland turned his head to see his younger son, Shawn.
“Daddy, when you say taking us to see Mom, do you mean a new mom?” True to being brothers, they even thought alike.
Leland shook his head. “No, your biological mother.”
Shawn tilted his head in confusion, his large eyes filled with puzzlement: “But isn’t our mom already dead?”
Leland frowned, a sullen look flashing across his eyes. “Who told you your mom was dead?”
Shaken by his father’s gaze, Shawn let go of the sleeve and stepped aside. At that moment, Wayne stood in front of his brother, having just promised to protect him. If his brother was scared, of course, he had to be there.
“Lots of people say so, after all, we’ve never seen our mom. Dad, when can I meet Mom? What is she like? Is she really as beautiful as the portrait?”
Leland replied, “It won’t be long before you meet her. When you do, you must be a little more well-behaved, don’t scare her.”
“With how cute my brother and I are, how could we scare Mom? But sure, we will be well-behaved. Mom only likes good children. If we’re too naughty, we can’t keep her.”
The child had hit the nail on the head, expressing exactly what he was thinking.
Wayne tugged at Leland’s hem and shook it. “Daddy, you didn’t answer me, is Mom really as beautiful as she is in the portrait?”
Leland fell silent, thinking of Winifred’s face after plastic surgery. He didn’t know why Winifred had chosen to undergo surgery, knowing how much she once cared about her appearance, her face beautiful like a diamond under the sun, dazzling. Now, except for her eyes, nothing resembled her former self.
To undergo such extensive surgery, involving numerous incisions and bone alterations, especially since Winifred was allergic to anesthesia-how had she endured it?
At this thought, Leland clenched his fists. Was it to avoid him? To go to such lengths to hide from him? But why then did she seem to not remember him? Could it be an act?
Impossible.
Leland instinctively refuted the thought.
That night, he remembered clearly. Winifred’s reaction couldn’t possibly have been an act. If she truly remembered him, she wouldn’t have been controlled by him for fear of implicating Garrison.