Chapter 3

Gideon obediently retreated to the junk room.

It was a tiny, windowless space where a makeshift bed had been set up. Ever since Chloe moved in, she had insisted he sleep there, even though we had plenty of bright, clean guest rooms.

Her excuse was always the same: "Sons need to be raised tough."

My husband had tried to argue at first, but eventually gave up. After all, it wasn't his son.

"Here you go, sweetheart. This is for you."

"Don't let that unlucky brat ruin your mood."

Chloe handed a gift to Simon, her face wreathed in smiles.

As Simon took the present, she noticed an uncut nail on his pinky finger. Her face instantly fell. She grabbed his hand, inspecting it closely.

Then she turned on me, her voice sharp with accusation. "Paige, what is wrong with you? Simon's nails are this long and you don't even care."

"What if he scratches himself?!"

I shrugged. "He'll cut them when they bother him. And it's just a little scratch."

Her voice rose in anger. "My Simon can't have a single scratch! Do you know how easily that can get infected?"

Cole snorted from the side. "You beat your own son black and blue every day, and you're worried about an infection from a hangnail?"

Chloe paused for a second, then carried on, fetching a pair of clippers and insisting on cutting Simon's nails herself.

Simon looked embarrassed. "Aunt Chloe, I can do it myself."

She stroked his head, her eyes full of a soft, tender love. "Simon, darling, in this house, your only job is to be happy and enjoy life."

"Don't you worry about trivial things like this. Leave it all to your parents."

Simon listened, wanting to say something but holding his tongue. Even after eighteen years of her relentless, overwhelming affection, he still wasn't quite used to it.