“How many words do you and Shawn know?” Winifred Dawson asked him.
Wayne Burns counted on his fingers. “I never counted, but I know a lot. Like all the words in this picture book-I know every one. My little brother knows them too.”
Unlike Shawn Burns, who was naturally quiet, Wayne had an energetic personality that made him talkative. The moment they entered his domain, he couldn’t stay still, darting around the room and grabbing things to show Winifred-his worn-out pajamas, the stuffed animal he slept with, a storytelling robot, toy cars, and even a completed Lego set.
Finally, he pulled out a piggy bank and proudly held it up to her. “Aunt Winifred, this is for you.”
“For me?”
“Yeah!”
The piggy bank was enormous-bigger than her head-and heavy in her arms. The wealthy really did things differently; this one was made of solid gold, weighing down her hands. She had no idea what this kid ate to be so strong, nor could she fathom why Leland Burns would give his son a pure gold piggy bank. The money inside probably wasn’t even worth as much as the container itself.
Winifred set the bank on the floor and pressed a switch under the pig’s belly. Inside were stacks of red bills, with a few silver coins scattered throughout. It was packed full-easily tens of thousands of dollars at a glance.
Winifred didn’t even have that much money herself. She didn’t work, after all; everything she had came from Garrison Reeves.
Wayne asked, “Aunt Winifred, do you like it?”
Shawn echoed, “Do you like it?”
Both boys crouched on the floor, staring up at her expectantly.
Who didn’t like money? But…
“I can’t take this.”
“Why? Don’t you like it?” Wayne frowned, his little brain struggling to process this. How could anyone not want money? All the aunts and uncles who took care of him and his brother loved the money his father gave them.
“It’s not that. I prefer money I earn myself. Only what I work for with my own hands feels right to spend.”
“Oh… So does Daddy pay you?”
The question caught Winifred off guard. Following Leland’s arrangement, she had interviewed at a small company and was content with the $3, 000 monthly salary. But that was just a cover-her real job was taking care of these two boys. Would she still get that $3, 000?
The thought nagged at her. If she didn’t get paid, her account would run dry, and Garrison would notice. She’d have to clarify things with Leland. Hopefully, he wasn’t too stingy.
Just thinking about Leland soured her mood. She couldn’t help sighing.
Hearing this, Wayne asked, “Aunt Winifred, are you sad? Did Daddy not pay you? If he didn’t, we’ll pay you!” He was terrified she might leave if she had no money. He had to find a way to keep her here.
“No, he’ll pay me. Money isn’t something you two need to worry about. Be good now, no more questions.”
“Okay.”
Winifred’s gaze drifted to a photo frame on the table-Leland with the two boys. Their mother was nowhere in sight.
She didn’t dare ask about her, afraid of stirring up painful memories.
A missing mother meant one of two things: either she had passed away, or she had left after the divorce. Neither was a pleasant topic. If it was the former, she could only sigh at life’s unpredictability. If it was the latter, Winifred couldn’t understand how anyone could abandon such adorable children.
Then again, Leland’s temper and personality were enough to drive anyone away. It was just the kids who suffered, growing up without a mother.
Winifred picked up a fairy tale book and sat on the bed, reading to the boys. At noon, a maid came upstairs to call them for lunch.
To her surprise, three bowls were set on the table-clearly meant for them.
Winifred had come here thinking of herself as a “maid,” which meant not sharing meals with the employer. She assumed going downstairs meant feeding the children.
But the setup suggested otherwise. Not only was there food prepared for her, but the staff addressed her as “Miss Dawson.” The chef explained that Leland had instructed them to treat this as her home.
Winifred sat stiffly, uneasy. This place was no home to her-it felt more like a gilded cage.
She took the middle seat, a child on either side. Wayne happily climbed into his chair, his plate already set. “Aunt Winifred, eat up! Mr. Hamilton’s food is amazing. Everything here is my favorite.” No bitter gourd in sight-perfect.
Suppressing her thoughts, Winifred said, “Let me feed you two first.”
Wayne shook his head. “We don’t need feeding. We can eat by ourselves.”
Shawn nodded in agreement, quietly picking up his little spoon.
Seeing they truly didn’t need help, Winifred finally picked up her chopsticks.