Chapter 259
Chapter 259
Sophia leaned against the doorframe.
The kitchen counter was laid out with precision—sliced fruit arranged in small dishes, eggs sizzling in the skillet.
Gerald stood in profile, focused on the pan.
Sophia crossed her arms. "Mr. Churchill."
His hands didn't stop. He tilted his head slightly, then turned his attention back to the eggs.
"You're up?"
"What are you doing?"
Her tone was flat. Unreadable.
"Making breakfast."
"I can see that." Sophia stayed at the kitchen entrance. "What I mean is—you don't need to do this. The whole performance gets nauseating after a point."
The air went still for a beat.
Gerald's fingers paused on the spatula, then he slid the egg onto a white porcelain plate.
He set the spatula down and turned to face her.
"Milo said last night before bed that he wanted my fried eggs."
Sophia said nothing.
"He used to ask for them at home all the time." Gerald turned back, ladled shrimp and corn porridge into a small bowl. "Got the hang of it over the years."
Sophia's body stiffened.
She reassessed the scene: the flame control was practiced and precise, the egg edges uniformly golden, the porridge consistency perfect, the fruit cut in even pieces.
For four years—every breakfast, every bedtime story, every long night sitting up with a sick child—this man had done it all.
The tight line of Sophia's lips eased slightly. She said nothing more.
She turned and went to wash up.
When she came out, Milo was awake.
The little boy emerged with a wild mess of hair.
"Smells so good!" He rubbed his eyes and followed his nose straight to the kitchen, looked up to see Gerald carrying plates, and his face lit up. "Daddy, you really made me breakfast?"
"Mm." Gerald bent and set the plate on the table. "Go wash your hands."
Milo ran to the bathroom—water splashing—then scrambled back, climbed into his chair, and stared at the eggs and fruit with pure anticipation.
Sophia pulled out the opposite chair and sat down.
Three place settings on the table.
Milo took a spoonful of porridge and mumbled, "So yummy! Daddy's porridge tastes different from Mommy's! They're both good."
Gerald sat beside him, tugging the boy's pajama sleeve back up where it had slipped.
Sophia took a sip of the porridge. The seasoning was just right.
She genuinely hadn't expected Gerald could cook porridge this well.
The three of them ate in quiet.
Milo's cheeks puffed with food. He'd glance up at Sophia across the table, then turn to Gerald beside him. The contentment on his small face was impossible to hide.
Halfway through, Gerald set down his fork.
"Milo's birthday is coming up." His gaze settled on Sophia. "Any thoughts? How do you want to do it?"
Sophia's hand stilled on her spoon.
She looked up and met his eyes.
Those dark irises were calm, watching her as though asking the most ordinary question in the world.
"Me?"
"Mm." Gerald leaned back. "He's turning five. He's been asking for a birthday party since last year. I've always handled it before. This year, since you're back—"
He paused.
"What do you want to do?"
Sophia's fingers tightened. Heat surged up her throat.
She could plan Milo's birthday herself?
Milo launched off his chair, rounded the table, and threw himself into her arms.
"Really, Mommy? I really get to have my birthday with you this year!"
His face tilted up—eyes rimmed red, mouth stretched into the widest grin. "Every birthday I used to make a secret wish for Mommy to come back. And this year you're finally here!"
The impact rocked Sophia backward. She caught his back to steady him.
She looked into Milo's shining eyes and felt her nose sting sharply.
Four years. She'd missed every birthday. Missed everything from his first wobbly steps to this bright, articulate little boy.
She pulled him closer. "Mommy's going to give you the best birthday this year."
"Yay! I want a super huge one! With tons and tons of balloons!"
Gerald watched them wrapped around each other. His gaze softened, then softened again.
---
After breakfast, Sophia loaded the dishes into the dishwasher, changed, and got ready to head out.
It was Saturday, but the project she'd been working on for months was in its final sprint. She wanted to knock out the remaining work over the weekend.
Milo watched her put on shoes, his lower lip pushing out. "Mommy has to work today too?"
"Just half a day." Sophia crouched and straightened his crooked collar. "I'll be back this afternoon to spend time with you, okay?"
Milo looked a little disappointed but nodded. "Come home early, Mommy."
Gerald reached for his coat on the rack.
"I'll drive you."
"No need." Sophia straightened without looking back. "I'll drive myself."
She opened the door and left.
---
At the office, Sophia opened her laptop and pulled up the project folder.
One final contract needed review. Two hours, tops.
She'd barely flipped through two pages when her colleague Jade Marie walked over, looking troubled.
"Matilda, our project got sniped. The partner swapped contacts on their end. New contractor's already been chosen."
Sophia's hand froze on the mouse. "Who?"
"Someone from the Douglas family." Jade bit her lip. "Apparently Claire Douglas handled it personally. Took the whole project."
Sophia's expression went cold. She stared at the proposal on her screen—thirteen revisions deep—her voice flat and hard.
"When?"
"Finalized last night. Just came down the pipeline. Everyone's talking about it—the whole team's year-end bonus is gone."
Sophia was silent for a moment. She saved the document, closed it, found Lloyd Wallace's number, and dialed.
"Mr. Wallace, this is Matilda."
The voice on the other end was polite but distant. "Ms. Percy, about the project—I'm sorry. The terms Ms. Douglas offered... we simply couldn't refuse."
"Mr. Wallace, my team has been on this for six months. Thirteen drafts, every detail customized to your company's specifications. Whatever the Douglas family offered, I can match. Let's talk."
Silence on the line. Lloyd sighed. "All right. Tonight, seven o'clock, Garden Bistro. If you have a proposal, come make your case in person."
"Seven o'clock. Garden Bistro."
Sophia hung up and checked the time.
She still had hours to prepare.