“Lyndon, about Sheldon… I need to tell you” Tilda began, her voice faltering as she grappled with her doubts.


    Was she being selfish by keeping this secret? Should she tell him the truth that Sheldon was his biological son?


    Lyndon, having overheard bits of Sheldon’s concerns, turned to her with a reassuring smile.


    “Listen, I’ve always seen Sheldon as my own.


    When we return, if anyone dares to question his ce in our family or treats him with anything less than respect, they’ll have me to answer to,” he dered firmly.


    Tilda’s resolve waned under his confident assurance.


    Maybe it was not yet the time to reveal everything.


    Lyndon, sensing the shift in her mood, returned to the kitchen and came back with another set of utensils.


    “Need some help eating?” he asked gently, ready to ease even the smallest burden.


    Tilda met Lyndon’s smiling gaze, a blush creeping up her neck.


    “I can do it myself,” she insisted.


    There was no need for him to assist her with eating.


    Her hands were perfectly functional.


    “But—” Lyndon began.


    “I’m not being stubborn.


    See, I can feed myself,” Tilda interrupted.


    Bothered by the thought of him pressing the issue, she clumsily ate a spoonful of noodles, chewing rapidly.


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    Lyndon’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he ced a bowl of soup in front of her.


    “Take your time,” he advised gently, his voice a soothing balm.


    Tilda swallowed the noodles, feeling herself act somewhat foolish.


    She couldn’t deny a flicker of irritation.


    Her uncharacteristic behavior around Lyndon felt alien.


    Where was the calm,posed woman she usually was?


    A thought struck her like a bolt of lightning.


    Love has the power to change individuals from their typical selves.


    It certainly described her current state perfectly.