Chapter 79
I hesitated, unsure whether to accept Henry’s invitation. Billy tugged at my hand, eager to escape the biting cold.
Mom, can we go with Dad? I’m really hungry,” he pleaded, his small face pinched with cold.
Before I could respond, Henry was already out of the car. In one fluid motion, he scooped me up and deposited me in the passenger seat, my protests dying in my throat from sheer surprise. I couldn’t remember the last time Henry had touched me with anything resembling tenderness.
“What are you doing?” I gasped, equal parts indignant and flustered.
Henry ignored my question, helping Billy into the back seat before returning to the driver’s side. “Seatbelt,” he reminded
- me.
As we pulled away, I found myself stealing glances at his profile, my mind filled with questions.
Why is he doing this? I wondered. Shouldn’t he be rushing to Isabella’s side right now?
The silence stretched between us, filled only by Billy’s excited chatter about the birds he’d spotted with William at the hospital. After a short drive, Henry pulled up in front of an upscale bakery, its windows still brightly lit despite the late
hour.
“Wait here,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I watched through the windshield as Henry walked around to open the back door for Billy. My son practically bounced out of the car, his earlier hunger apparently forgotten as Henry led him toward the bakery entrance.
Through the large display windows, I could see Billy’s face lit with excitement as he pressed his finger against the glass counter, pointing at various cakes. Henry stood beside him, nodding seriously at whatever Billy was saying.
The scene was so domestic, so normal–yet in our five years of marriage, I’d never experienced anything like it. Henry had never taken Billy shopping, never indulged our son’s childish enthusiasm over something as simple as cake.
What game is he playing now? I wondered, my guard instinctively rising. Was he jealous? Because of Thomas?
Soon, father and son emerged from the bakery, Henry carrying a large white box while Billy skipped ahead, his face beaming with secret excitement.
“We got a surprise!” Billy announced as he climbed back into the car. “I’m not going to tell you what
Come on, did this really need guessing? The bakery sign was so obvious, but I wouldn’t ignore Billy’s enthusiasm.
“Sweetie, I’m already looking forward to it,” I said.
Henry placed the box carefully in the trunk before returning to the driver’s seat. The genuine smile at the corner of his mouth was something I hadn’t seen in years.
The drive back to Maple Grove passed quickly. When we arrived the house was dimly lit, only a single lamp illuminating the entryway.
In the dining room, the maid had set out an elaborate dinner–roast beef, vegetable sides, freshly baked rolls–but the
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Chapter 79
table settings looked hastily arranged.
Henry frowned as he surveyed the spread. After I specifically instructed her, this is what she prepares?”
touched his arm gently. “Let’s just cat, Henry. It looks fine.”
We settled at the table, Billy climbing into his chair with unusual enthusiasm. Henry took a bite of the roast beef and immediately grimaced.
“This is overcooked,” he muttered, pushing his plate away. “And these vegetables are bland. Is she deliberately making it
this terrible?”
Itentatively sampled the meal. “I think it tastes okay,” I said honestly. The food was simple but perfectly acceptable- certainly nothing deserving of Henry’s dramatic reaction.
“She’s clearly trying to get back at me…” Henry didn’t finish his thought, his jaw tightening. “I’ll have her replaced
tomorrow.”
I studied him curiously. Henry had always been particular about food, but tonight his reactions seemed extreme.
“I’ll make you something else,” I offered, already rising from my chair. For some reason, on this night when he was behaving so uncharacteristically, I couldn’t bear to see him hungry.
As I moved about the kitchen, I felt his eyes following me, his gaze so intense.
I was stirring the pasta when I felt Henry’s warmth behind me, his chest pressing against my back as his arms encircled my waist.
I froze, the wooden spoon suspended in mid–air.
“Happy birthday, Sophia,” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear.
“Is that cake really for me?” Even though the answer was obvious, I still couldn’t be one hundred percent certain.
“Of course,” Henry replied, his arms still around me.
His humble admission somehow penetrated the defenses of my heart.
I hadn’t celebrated my birthday since before our marriage.
The first year, I still had hopes for our relationship, telling myself that Henry was too busy with w trivial matters. As his wife, I should be understanding.
By our second year, with Billy’s arrival, I’d been too focused on motherhood to care about birthdays.
o remember such
And after that…
Well, birthdays became just another reminder of my isolation within the Harding household.
I blinked back unexpected tears as I plated the pasta. When we returned to the dining room, Henry took his first bite and looked up at me in surprise.
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“This is good,” he said, sourding genuinely astonished. “Actually very good.”
I couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “It’s just pasta aglio e olio. Nothing special.”
Henry took another bite, his expression thoughtful. “I’ve fired all the staff here in Maple Grove,” he announced suddenly. “What they’ve been doing–or rather, not doing–is unacceptable. Starting tomorrow, I’ll have two trusted people assigned
specifically to you and Billy.”
I nearly dropped my fork. “You fired everyone? What happened?
“I know what they’ve been doing, Sophia,” Henry said quietly. “How they’ve been treating you and Billy when I wasn’t around.”
I stared at my plate, memories flooding back–when Billy had a fever, how the staff made excuses, saying they “couldn’t find children’s medication; meals mysteriously disappearing from the refrigerator when Henry was away; housekeepers who would clean the entire estate except for our wing, leaving me to handle the dust and laundry myself.
Without warning, tears slipped down my cheeks, dropping into my pasta.
I tried to wipe them away quickly, embarrassed by this display of emotion.
Henry looked alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head, telling myself to be a strong woman.
But this sudden tenderness was what touched me the most.
“Mom, why are you crying?” Billy asked, his fork paused halfway to his mouth.
“Because I’m happy,” I said, offering him a watery smile.
Henry cleared his throat awkwardly, then began to sing in a low hesitant voice: “Happy birthday to you…”
Billy’s face lit up as he joined in, his childish voice much more confident than his father’s. “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Mommy!”
I looked at the two sincere smiling faces–one large, one small–and despite my tears, I felt my smile growing wider.
“Thank you, handsome gentlemen,” I said, my voice catching slightly.
“You’re crying because you’re happy?” Billy asked skeptically.
I reached across the table to squeeze his small hand. “Sometimes when people feel too much happines at once, it comes out as tears.”
Is this your first birthday party since you married Dad?” Billy asked innocently.
I glanced at Henry, whose expression had grown unreadable again. “Yes,” I answered honestly. “This is my first birthday celebration since joining the Harding family.”
