"Cyrus, you’re the oldest brother. You must help take care of your younger siblings at kindergarten. Grace can be naughty, so keep an eye on her."
Henry Thompson would say this every day, and Cyrus never seemed to tire of it, always obediently agreeing.
But Hank Thompson was not so agreeable.
He pouted with breadcrumbs still on the corners of his mouth: "Uncle, we’re not children anymore. Does Cyrus really have to watch us every second of the day?"
Barely finishing his sentence, he seemed to suddenly remember something.
He shifted his chair closer to Henry and made faces at Cyrus, but spoke to his uncle.
"Uncle, all these years, we’ve never seen our father since we were born. Do you know who our father is, and where he is now?" Content originally comes from NovєlFіre.net
His voice was neither loud nor quiet. Cyrus, who was sitting close, naturally heard.
He frowned slightly, silently lamenting his younger brother’s inability to keep secrets, but still couldn’t resist glancing in his uncle’s direction.
To say he wasn’t curious would be untrue.
At his words, Henry’s actions of picking up the bread paused noticeably.
The expression on his face suddenly turned dark.
Seeing this, Hank was taken aback and quickly added, "Uncle, we didn’t mean anything by it, just curious is all."
He paused, then added, "Other kids have dads, I...I’m just a bit curious."
At this, Henry’s face finally softened somewhat.
He slowly put down the bread, remained silent for a few seconds, then exhaled deeply, a flash of murderous intent passing through his eyes.
The sun had risen outside, warm rays of light danced on the table and everything was bathed in a comfortable golden hue.
However, Hank suddenly felt a little cold.
He furrowed his brows at the goosebumps on the back of his hand, and at the same time, Henry slowly began to speak.
There was barely restrained fury in his voice.
"Your mother probably never mentioned him to you either, did she?"
As he finished, the children nodded in unison, their movement exceptionally coordinated.
From the moment they came to this world, the figure of a father seemed to be absent from their cognition.
Since their mother didn’t care, the children seemed to form some tacit agreement and never spoke of it.
But not talking about it didn’t mean they didn’t know.
Finally, Cyrus, who had remained silent, spoke.
His voice was gentle, "Uncle, we have the right to know."
The children’s eyes were fixed on Henry, who opened his mouth to speak but then hesitated.
This matter was difficult to explain.
Let alone whether Charlotte had let it go, even thinking about it now, Henry felt his teeth itch with anger.
Although it wasn’t something that happened to him, he was heartbroken for Charlotte.
Eventually, he took a deep breath, rubbed his temples, and his voice sounded tired.
"You’re right, you’ve had it tough all these years."
He paused, his gaze filled with a touch of remembrance.
Yet his expression was stony, and his voice carried a bitter hate.
Pretty obvious Henry didn’t want to bring all these things up again.
He thought it could turn the page on the past, but he nearly forgot.
This was something they seemed unable to get past.
The origins of Cyrus, Hank, and Grace, the three children, always reminded them of everything that had happened five years ago.