A Journey from Bitterness to Truth

Orson was jolted awake by a noise, and the grumpiness that clung to him like a second skin in the mornings was evident as he squinted up at Matilda, who stood in the doorway. The covers slid off him, revealing his torso, shirtless and surprisingly appealing despite his usual hunch over a computer. His lean chest bore the subtle testament to a modest commitment to fitness.

Matilda couldn’t help but see a resemblance to her own brother in Orson’s face. “Did I wake you?“.

He mumbled an incoherent response, propping himself up with one hand while the other raked through his tousled hair. Squinting at Matilda, he asked, “What time is it?”

She replied, “Nine… Nine in the morning…”

Before she could finish, Orson collapsed back onto his pillow with a thud, surrendering to sleep as if it were his natural state.

Here we go again, the art of instant slumber.

Logan tiptoed around, whispering, “Is Uncle Orson going back to sleep?”

“Yes, let’s leave him be,” Matilda suggested, ushering Logan out and gently closing the door behind them. In the quiet of his room, Orson’s face softened in sleep, free from his usual icy detachment. The bed, evidently chosen to suit his taste, cradled him in undeniable comfort.

That aftemoon, Matilda took Logan to enroll in a prep class at an exclusive private school. The admissions officer was taken aback by Logan’s age. “Five years old? Our program starts at seven…”

“I can do it!” Logan insisted, clutching Matilda’s hand.

The officer was charmed both by Logan’s good looks and his politeness. “How about we give you an entrance test? If you pass, you can join the older kids at our school. How’s that?”

“No problem!” Logan was confident, having spent countless hours poring over eclectic books in Yvan’s study, his young mind already brimming with knowledge.

Matilda accompanied Logan to the assessment, then reassured him, “Mommy will wait outside for you. Go ahead with your test.”

“Okay.” Logan psyched himself up. “Don’t worry, Mommy, I’ve got this.”

Half an hour later, the examiner was flabbergasted, holding the completed test. “You did this all by yourself?”

Logan nodded proudly.

The examiner was astonished. “Solving elementary algebra, using idioms in sentences, quoting famous sayings, and your handwriting! Did you learn all this on your own?”

“Not exactly,” Logan explained. “I picked it up at someone else’s house.” He was referring to the influence of Yvan’s elite education during his enforced stay with the Boyd family.

Matilda glanced at Logan’s paper. The script was impossible without practice. She whispered, “Did he make you practice it?” “He‘ meant

Yvan.

Logan nodded, “He said the font was elegant. Good to start young.”

It was one of the few positive legacies Yvan had left on Logan.

The examiner praised Logan’s advanced cognitive development and began the enrollment process. “Ms. Thompson, come back the day after tomorrow with all the necessary documents, and we’ll register your son as soon as possible.”

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Matilda thanked her profusely. The examiner, still in awe, gently touched Logan’s cheek, marveling at his intelligence and beauty.

“In a few days, you’ll join the first graders. It’s different from pre–school, you know. Will you cry?”

“No way.”

Logan’s eyes sparkled with eagerness. “I’ll study hard!”

The examiner’s impression of the mother and son duo was overwhelmingly positive. As Matilda led Logan away, whispers followed

them.

“Such a well–behaved child, they’re blessed.”

“The mother has such poise. Could she be an heiress?”

“Where’s the father? Could it be one of those arranged marriages?”

“Poor things, such a lovely mother, and son, their time wasted.”