Chapter 82
Shawn hadn’t had much of an appetite for the past two days. He’d never had a strong constitution, and for him, every illness felt like a life-or-death struggle. After two days of barely eating, he found himself craving the nourishing soup Rebekah used to make.
He hadn’t gone to school, and knowing his mother was still at home, he couldn’t resist going to her room.
Rebekah had moved her easel to the window. A medicated patch was on her wrist, and though her movements were a little slow, her hand was steady as she held the brush. Sunlight streamed in, bathing her in a soft, ethereal glow. Having not seen his mother for so long, Shawn was struck by a sudden, powerful wave of longing.
Rebekah caught the movement at the door out of the corner of her eye and turned to see him standing there. Even though they lived under the same roof, she hadn’t seen her son in days. He’d even been having his meals in his room, throwing a tantrum because he didn’t want to see her.
“Do you need something?” Her tone was cold.
Instantly, Shawn felt like he was looking at a stranger again. He pouted, lifting his chin defiantly. “I want the soup you make. Go make it for me p>
His demanding attitude made Rebekah frown. “Is that how you ask for something p>
Her stern expression reminded Shawn of all the times she’d been strict with him about his studies or meals, the look she’d give him when he misbehaved. He instinctively lowered his head.
Seeing his reaction, Rebekah’s resolve softened. She had raised him; she knew him better than anyone. His little face had grown thin after just a few days of being sick, and a pang of sympathy went through her. She set down her brush and peeled off the patch she’d been wearing for six hours.
“Let’s go p>
She made the soup for him. While he waited, Shawn grabbed the cook in the dining room and told her to watch Rebekah and learn how to make it. That way, he wouldn’t have to beg his mother next time he wanted it. The cook could make it for him instead.
Just as Rebekah was bringing out the steaming bowl, Candice came downstairs. Her eyes narrowed when she
sa a serving
Shawn who was waiting obediently. She walked over, a saccharine smile on her face.
“Oh, you’re finally making soup for Shawn! He hasn’t eaten for two days, poor thing. He’s been talking about your soup nonstop p>
Afraid Candice would misunderstand, Shawn rushed to explain. “Aunt Candice, when I’m not sick, I like your cooking too p>
Candice smiled and ruffled his hair. “Shawn, you can eat whatever you want. Iwon’t get jealous. Anytime you want something, just tell me. I’ll drop whatever I’m doing to make you a delicious meal p>
“You’re the best, Aunt Candice!” Shawn gushed, feeling more and more certain that Candice would make a wonderful mother—not like his own, who was always nagging him about his homework his bedtime, even how long he could play outside.
Rebekah ignored their cloying exchange and simply placed the bowl on the table. “The soup is ready. Eat up p>
“Let me help,” Candice said, reaching for the bowl. But as her hand drew near, she suddenly jerked it forward, knocking the bowl from Rebekah’s grasp. Scalding soup splashed over both their hands. Rebekah flinched back while Candice let out a piercing scream.
“Aunt Candice!” Shawn cried out.
“Candice!” Benjamin’s voice boomed from the doorway. A second later, he was rushing to Candice’s side, his face etched with worry as he took her hand. “Don’t blame my sister,” Candice whimpered, her voice laced with false bravery. “It was my fault; I was careless. I’m tough, I’ll be fine. You should check on her p>