"There you go, good boy."

Sylvia quickly instructed the housekeeper, "Hurry, prepare the medicine again!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Here, give it to him!" Sylvia carried the medicine over to Francis.

Francis coaxed and fed James, who was very cooperative and didn't make a fuss.

"Oh dear..." Sylvia felt a twinge of envy, smiling, "Dad's always the best, huh? I couldn't do the trick."

James' cheeks were flushed as he clung to Francis' hand.

Sylvia, sensing the moment, said, "Daddy's back now, James. You have a good time with dad, and we'll leave you two."

She left with the housekeeper, smiling.

By the bedside, Francis watched over James, applying a new fever patch.

"Daddy..." James' voice was hoarse from the fever, "Are you my real daddy?"

Huh? Francis paused for a second, then quickly understood what James meant. He nodded affirmatively, "Yes, daddy is your real daddy, your very own."

Hearing this, James' lips quivered, and tears started falling.

He was young, but not naive. He understood what that meant.

Sobbing, he asked, "Then, daddy, where's my mommy?"

Pausing, he added, "Not the auntie, I mean, my real mommy, the one who gave birth to me?"

"

a loss for words... How should he

was, but their relationship wasn't

"Daddy."

mommy... is she dead? Not in this

to think

Perhaps not in the

again, "Does mommy not

was puzzled by his son's thought process, "Why would

"It must

true!" James' tears

freely, the

like

comes to

Content

presenting his pouty rear to his dad

parted, wanting to

he supposed to comfort

like James? He really had

every mother loves their

hadn't wanted James... After James was born, she left him... Probably, maybe,

James.

It was his fault.

probably an existence Rebecca wished to forget forever... A

bed, James, still upset,

his temples, then tucked James in

Little James murmured, "Mommy,

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