No wonder she struggled to lift a kitchen knife, turning the cooking process into a mess. Her trembling hands weren’t out of fear of him-it was because of her injury.
Leland Burns kept shifting his gaze between her feet and her hands, making Winifred Dawson deeply uncomfortable.
She wanted to avoid his stare, but escaping someone’s attention wasn’t easy. Leland’s eyes clung to her like a spider’s web, as if he might devour her at any moment.
When he suddenly stepped closer, she flinched, her mind screaming for the children to come downstairs and save her from being alone with him.
“Don’t move.”
His sharp command froze her in place. He pulled a bandage from his pocket, crouched down, and grabbed her hand. With practiced ease, he peeled off the adhesive and pressed it over her wound.
“Mr. Burns, it’s just a small cut… no need for a bandage.”
“To prevent infection.” He paused. “It’s waterproof. I cooked today, so you’ll wash the dishes later. Understood?”
So she had misunderstood.
His habit of carrying bandages had formed years ago, back when he followed Winifred around, constantly worrying the young mistress might hurt herself. Over time, it became second nature. After having children, his pockets always held antiseptic swabs and bandages alongside his business cards. While others pulled out lighters and cigarettes during meetings, he produced bandages.
Once the bandage was in place, Leland sat on the couch. Silence settled between them, but it wasn’t awkward.
He spoke first, motioning for her to sit.
Winifred stood, then lowered herself onto the sofa like a meek servant, keeping as much distance from him as possible.
“Do you remember anything about your past injuries?” Leland asked.
She shook her head, baffled by his sudden interest in her old wounds.
He didn’t ask if it had hurt-of course it had. What was the point of reopening old scars?
“Mr. Burns, are you… concerned about me?” She tried to soften him up. If he cared, maybe she could play the sympathy card and convince him to let her leave early, without waiting the full hundred days.
But that was impossible. Leland saw right through her. “You’re overthinking it,” he replied coldly.
Winifred’s shoulders slumped, making her look like a pitiful stray cat.
When lunch was ready, Leland told her to call the children downstairs.
As she turned to leave, he tossed out a careless remark.
“Doesn’t this feel like a family of four?”
“No.” She had no intention of becoming part of his family.
Winifred fetched the boys, who gasped at the feast on the table.
“Wow-!” Wayne exclaimed. “Aunt Winifred, did you make all this? It looks amazing! I’m eating three bowls today!” He’d already forgotten his morning vow to watch his diet.
“Me too,” Shawn added quietly.
Winifred flushed with embarrassment. The boys’ enthusiasm was sweet, but she couldn’t take credit.
Before she could explain, Leland interrupted, carrying out a pot of soup. “Sit down and eat. No talking.”
The boys took their usual seats beside her. “Aunt Winifred, I want soup!” Wayne begged.
“Me too!”
“Okay, one at a time.” She reached for the ladle, but Leland snatched it first.
He served them each half a bowl. “Drink it yourselves. Let Aunt Winifred eat in peace.”
Was it her imagination, or was he being considerate of her injury?
The meal passed quietly-likely because Leland’s presence kept the boys in line. Winifred tried to help, but they didn’t need it.
Then a chunk of fish landed in her bowl.
Leland had made carp soup. Though the fish were small, their meat was tender-and full of tiny bones. With her unsteady hands, Winifred usually avoided carp, sticking to boneless options like snakehead fish. Last night, Garrison had prepared snakehead soup. Today, she’d planned to make bone broth-until Leland surprised her with fish.
Now, he was deboning it for her.
She stared at the clean piece of fish in her bowl, unsure whether to eat it or not.
Leland wordlessly added another piece, then resumed picking bones from the plate.
“Aunt Winifred, eat it before it gets cold!” Wayne urged.
Reluctantly, she took a bite. The flesh was sweet, without a single stray bone.
“Is it good?” Wayne asked.
“Yes.”
The boy loved fish, but he loved watching his dad debone it for his mom even more. Instead of demanding his share, he told Leland, “Hurry up, Dad. Aunt Winifred likes it!”
“N-no, that’s enough,” Winifred stammered.