Sheldon, still buzzing with excitement, kept his eyes squeezed shut but his eyelids flickered.
âNot quite ready for sleep yet, are you?â Tilda asked playfully.
Sheldon peeked at her.
âTilda, can you ask Dad to tell the story?â
Tilda couldnât help but snort.
Even the sweet words of Little boys could not be trusted, it seemed!
âAlright.
â Tilda nodded.
Pushing down the flicker of jealousy, she stood and left the room.
Well, it was time for Lyndon to step up to his fatherly duties, she mused.
Lyndon had finished showering and stood in the living room, a black robe draped over him.
Elma poured him a glass of water.
His hair, slightly damp, flopped across his forehead, softening his usual arrogant air.
Tilda met his gaze briefly, then looked away.
âMr.
Fernandez,â she said politely, âSheldon wants you to tell him a bedtime story.
â
Lyndon took a few sips of water.
âAlright,â he agreed.
âThank you,â Tilda said.
Lyndon glanced at her, but Tilda kept her eyes downcast.
Only when he was out of sight did she slowly raise them.
Elma had been smiling ever since Lyndon showed up.
âMr.
Fernandez is so patient with children.
Heâll make a wonderful husband and father someday.
â
There Elma went again, singing Lyndonâs praises.
Tilda pursed her lips and walked towards the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water.
Elmaâs words might hold truth, but accepting Lyndon was another story entirely.
Gulping down half the glass in one go, Tilda took a deep breath.
âIâll take a shower.
â
Elma watched her go, a sigh escaping her Lips.
She wasnât sure why Tilda was keeping the truth hidden, but she held onto the hope that Tilda would come around eventually.