Holding a child in each hand, their little palms soft and warm, Winifred Dawson was careful not to squeeze too tightly, afraid she might hurt them.
She treated the two children as if they were delicate porcelain dolls, handling them with excessive caution.
Behind her, Leland Burns’s eyes darkened. He hadn’t expected Winifred Dawson to take to the children so easily at first glance.
He had assumed she would dislike children-just as she disliked him.
That made him the exception. Winifred Dawson despised only him.
Leland couldn’t quite describe the bitterness in his heart. His gaze fixated on the hands holding the children. He wanted Winifred to reach for him too.
The sudden thought struck him as ridiculous. Was he really jealous of two children?
But it was undeniable-Winifred was fair to everyone except him.
If she could be so kind to two children she had just met, why couldn’t she have treated him the same way back then?
Dwelling on the past was pointless now. Leland repeatedly reminded himself not to linger on it, yet every time the memories resurfaced, he couldn’t help it.
……
Winifred walked ahead with the children, not looking back. She could feel Leland’s icy stare boring into her, like cold vines coiling around her body, possessive and unrelenting.
His gaze wasn’t lost on the children either. Once inside, Wayne Burns quickly led Winifred to the living room and urged her to sit on the sofa.
With his mother seated, he could whisper in her ear. Leaning in conspiratorially, Wayne said in a hushed voice, “Aunt Winifred, I’ll tell you a secret-Daddy’s a big jealousy pot. He’s mad that we’re close to you.”
Winifred stiffened, her eyes darting toward Leland, who stood frowning.
Even a four- or five-year-old could sense Leland’s unusual behavior toward her.
But jealousy implied “liking,” and Winifred didn’t believe Leland actually liked her. Garrison Reeves liked her too, yet he had never done anything to make her despise him.
She shifted uncomfortably, wondering what this child had been fed to be so perceptive. Or was Leland’s genetic influence just that strong?
Meanwhile, Shawn Burns nestled quietly beside her, watching her intently without a word.
Wayne, who had been so lively moments ago, suddenly grew bashful. He wriggled off the sofa, draped himself over Winifred’s lap, and hugged her legs. “Aunt Winifred, can you give me a kiss?”
Unlike his shy younger brother, Wayne was direct about what he wanted.
“Shawn kissed you earlier. I want one too.” He tilted his round little face up, lips puckered, his big dark eyes brimming with longing-utterly disarming. Winifred’s heart melted instantly.
So children could be this adorable. And two of them, no less.
Initially, Winifred had been reluctant to take care of kids. She had no experience, and Leland’s forceful insistence had made her resentful.
People reacted to unfamiliar things in two ways: curiosity or resistance. Winifred was firmly in the latter camp. Her understanding of childcare came from online videos-most of which featured nightmare children.
She had braced herself for a battle with little terrors, only to find that Leland’s sons were anything but. They were little angels, infinitely more likable than their father.
Winifred leaned down and pressed a kiss to Wayne’s forehead. He smelled sweet, like milk.
“Me too…” Shawn, still clinging to her arm, piped up softly.
Winifred was far more generous with the children. She gave him a kiss as well.
Leland, watching from the side, could only seethe with envy.
Once inside, Winifred noticed the house was well-staffed. The kitchen bustled with activity, maids tidied the living room, and gardeners trimmed the hedges outside. Clearly, her presence wasn’t actually needed.
Leland had everything meticulously arranged. The staff could handle the house and the children just fine.
She had been tricked again.
Her role here wasn’t to work-it was to be waited on. All she had to do was bond with the boys.
On her first day, Winifred felt out of place. She focused entirely on the children, using them to ignore Leland’s presence.
Leland, perceptive as ever, realized his staying would only make her uncomfortable.
This required patience. She needed time to adjust, to grow accustomed to this place. Once she did, dependence would follow.
He didn’t linger long, leaving before lunch.
The moment he was gone, Winifred exhaled in relief.
The subtle reaction didn’t escape Wayne’s notice. His sharp observation skills were just like his father’s.
Without hesitation, Wayne asked in front of the staff, “Aunt Winifred, are you scared of Daddy?”
Winifred paused, then admitted, “A little…”
“Daddy can be scary. He’s got a bad temper, acts cold, and never says nice things. Everyone in the family is afraid of him-even me, when he’s angry.” Wayne’s tone shifted.
“But he’s a good dad. He’s never hit me or Shawn. When he’s not working, he spends time with us-reading, writing, telling bedtime stories. And most importantly…” The boy’s eyes sparkled as he stared at Winifred. “He loves Mommy.”
Winifred wasn’t interested in Leland’s family affairs. Though curious about who had been brave enough to bear his children, she didn’t ask.
When she didn’t respond, Wayne grew anxious, worried she hadn’t picked up on his hint.
“Aunt Winifred, Daddy’s a good person. He won’t bully you.”
Winifred didn’t know how to answer. To every child, their parents were the best people in the world.
Claiming Leland wouldn’t bully her? If that were true, she wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t be struggling like this. In the short time she’d known him, he had made a habit of threatening her, as if he wanted to chain her to his side.
She listened quietly, not taking his words seriously. She wouldn’t argue-she couldn’t bear to shatter his image of his father.
Let children keep their innocence.
“Aunt Winifred, you really don’t have to be afraid. I can tell he likes you. Stay here, and he’ll treat you better and better.”
She didn’t want Leland’s kindness. Glancing at Wayne’s small hand clutching her fingers, she finally replied, “Okay. I won’t be afraid.”
Too young to recognize lies, Wayne took her words at face value. Exchanging a look with his brother, he scrambled off the sofa, took Winifred’s hand, and led her upstairs to their bedroom.
The boys’ room was simply decorated, lacking the playful touches typical of a child’s space. The desk was piled high with books-mostly picture books, fairy tales, and calligraphy practice. Winifred flipped through a few. Despite their age, their handwriting was neat.
But could they really read all these? Did they even know all the characters?
Shawn dutifully brought over a chair and placed it behind her, tugging her sleeve. “A-Auntie, sit.”
“Thank you, Shawn.”
His cheeks flushed pink, soft as a ripe peach, tempting enough to bite.
“Do you read these every day?”
“Yep!” Wayne pulled out his favorite fairy tale book, filled with illustrations. “I love this one, but some words are hard. When Daddy’s home, I ask him. Otherwise, I ask uncles or aunts. Aunt Winifred, can you read to us from now on?”
On the cover were the words: The Little Tadpoles Search for Their Mother.
“Of course…”