Chapter 11: Oh, a Father’s Love

After giving Felix Ford his bath and applying his ointment, Amanda Vance went to take a shower herself. When she came out, she found her son with his back to her, his small hands digging through his little backpack. He finally pulled out something wrinkled.

Looking at the storybook, Felix Ford nodded in satisfaction. When he turned and saw her, his eyes lit up, and he ran toward her with his arms wide open. "Mommy!"

Amanda Vance still wasn’t quite used to her son’s sudden warmth over the past two days. Seeing the book in his hands, confusion flickered in her eyes.

’Isn’t Jean a neat freak? His things are always so orderly. Why is his book all wrinkled like this?’

Felix Ford noticed how wrinkled his book was too. He sheepishly hid it behind his back, trying to press it flat with his hands. Looking up at her, he mumbled, "Mommy, I promise I’ll take good care of my books from now on."

’Dad used to look down on me for this, too.’

Seeing his anxious expression, she suddenly remembered him sobbing in the mall earlier that day. Amanda Vance’s heart softened. She stepped forward and hugged him. "It’s okay. The backpack is just too small. It’s not Jean’s fault."

’She’s not mad?’

Felix Ford watched her for a long moment. Once he was sure she meant it, a smile slowly blossomed on his little face. It was pure, sincere, and easily satisfied.

Amanda Vance couldn’t help but smile, too. She carried him over to the bed, and they lay down. Picking up the storybook, she asked, "Want Mommy to read it to you?"

"Okay!" Felix Ford blinked, snuggling contentedly in her arms and glancing up at her every so often.

’Mommy is so beautiful, and her stories sound so nice.’

He yawned, nuzzled his head against her, and drifted into a deep sleep before he even knew it.

Seeing him asleep, Amanda Vance stopped reading. She absently traced the contours of his face with her fingertips. ’No signs of a disguise. It’s a real face.’

She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a little ridiculous for her strange suspicions. ’This is my son. Why am I being so paranoid? Could there really be another person in the world who looks exactly like Jean?’

She flipped through the fairy tale book and happened to see a drawing on the last page—a man and a woman with a child between them, who was smiling radiantly.

It was a very simple doodle, but it was incredibly touching.

’Jean... he wants a father, doesn’t he?’

He used to ask her about his father when he was very little. Then, one day, he suddenly stopped. She had thought he simply didn’t care anymore. But maybe... he had just gotten better at hiding it.

"Mommy," the little boy in her arms murmured, snuggling deeper into her embrace. Even in his sleep, a contented smile played on his lips. She couldn’t resist leaning down and planting a big smooch on his cheek.

Her eyes fell on the man in the "family portrait." His face was colored green, and red flames were shooting from his eyes. She snorted with laughter. ’Is this what a dad looks like in his mind? A fire-breathing Hulk?’

「The Ford Residence.」

After his bath, Jean Vance came out in his little slippers, drying his hair with a towel. He froze when he saw the figure on the bed.

Samuel Ford put down his book. He reached out a long arm and took the towel. "Come here."

Seeing his intention, Jean Vance frowned and refused flatly. "You don’t have to. I can do it myself."

As he spoke, he reached for the towel, but the man got off the bed. His six-foot-three frame was an intimidating contrast to Jean’s own small stature.

He looked up in annoyance, but before he could see the man’s expression, the towel was thrown over his head. One of the man’s large hands gripped his shoulder, holding him still, while the other scrubbed his hair with the towel. It was a rough, haphazard motion, with enough force it felt like he was trying to rub him bald.

Jean Vance couldn’t help but wonder, ’Has he figured out I’m an imposter? Is that why he’s torturing me like this?!’

He struggled, trying to push the man away, but he was as immovable as a statue. Sensing his struggle, the man placated him impatiently, "Almost done."

When he felt it was dry enough, he pulled the towel away. Underneath, Jean Vance’s hair had exploded into a bird’s nest.

He didn’t even have to look; he could just imagine what a mess it was.

His lips were pressed into a thin line. So angry he could no longer maintain his composure, he shot the man a vicious glare. He then turned on his heel and marched back into the bathroom. Staring at the bird’s nest on his head in the mirror, his little face darkened. He took a deep breath, grabbed a comb, and neatened his hair, finally letting out a long sigh of relief.

A moment later, he returned to the bedroom. Seeing the man had already lain back down on the bed, he scowled. "Get off."

Sensing the boy’s anger, Samuel Ford looked genuinely confused.

’Shawn said I needed to have more parent-child interactions to close the distance between us. That’s why I tried to help dry his hair. But why does he look so unhappy about it?’

Just then, his phone buzzed. He picked it up and glanced at the screen.

[Shawn: Bro, once isn’t going to cut it. You ignored Colt for way too long, a kid isn’t going to forgive you that easily. Take it step-by-step. Keep at it. Try reading him a bedtime story. A month of that should do the trick.]

’A whole month? That long?’

Samuel Ford’s brow furrowed. He looked up at his son’s cold little face and sighed.

"I’ll sleep in here with you tonight."

’He wants to sleep in here with me?’

Jean Vance was a million percent against the idea, but he wondered if this was how Samuel and Felix Ford normally interacted. Afraid of blowing his cover, he had no choice but to climb onto the far side of the bed, hugging the very edge to keep as much distance as possible between them.

He pulled the light summer blanket over himself, folded his hands over his stomach, and closed his eyes.

His breathing was still uneven, a clear sign he was angry. After a moment’s thought, Samuel Ford picked up the book from the nightstand and began, his face expressionless, "Once upon a time..."

Jean Vance’s eyes snapped open. He stared at the man beside him in utter disbelief.

Noticing his reaction, Samuel Ford turned to look at him and said earnestly, "I’ve neglected you in the past. From now on, I’m going to make more time to spend with you."

He frowned, finally making a concession. "For the next month, I will read you a bedtime story every night."

’A whole month?’

The composure on Jean Vance’s little face, which he had just struggled to regain, once again threatened to crack.

Seeing him silent, Samuel Ford assumed he had tacitly agreed. He sighed to himself. ’Shawn might be unreliable, but he’s right about this. I really should make more time to be with him.’

His mind made up, he continued reading the story.

His voice was completely monotone, as cold and rigid as if he were reading a legal statute.

Any drowsiness Jean Vance might have felt was completely chased away by the man’s reading. In the darkness, the man’s presence seemed to envelop him. He couldn’t help but glance over at him, then quickly looked away, his expression full of disgust.

His mind was now wide awake. He didn’t manage to feel sleepy again until around four or five in the morning, and then his internal clock woke him at seven. As a result, he was in no mood to give Samuel Ford a pleasant look the next day.

’As soon as I find a chance, I’ll have Felix Ford come back. Let *him* endure this brand of fatherly love.’

’I’m not his son. I can’t stand it.’

He didn’t want to speak to the man, and Samuel Ford had a habit of eating in silence. The two of them finished their meal without a word, their expressions growing progressively more tense, looking more like enemies than father and son.

Samuel Ford set down his chopsticks and finally spoke. "I have to go to the office today. You’re coming with me."

Jean Vance slowly set down his own chopsticks and looked at him, his face a blank mask.

’Hmph. More "fatherly love."’