Chapter 2

Charles looked relieved when he saw me sit down.

He took a seat next to Emily and casually slid her water glass over to her right hand.

"You have stomach issues, so skip the cold drinks. Let me ask the waiter to bring you some warm water," he said.

Emily lowered her voice. "Chuck, leave me be today. Sophie won't be happy if you keep fussing over me."

As she spoke, she cast me a glance.

Her voice was soft, but everyone at the main table heard her.

Charles frowned right away. "She won't," he said.

Then glanced up at me. "Right, Sophie?"

I tightened my grip on my utensils, my thumbs pressing so hard against them that they left pale marks.

I smiled.

"Let's start eating. Don't make my dad wait," I suggested.

My dad finally sat down when he heard my words.

But as he sat, his hand, which had been about to raise his wine goblet, paused for a moment.

For the first time, those eyes that always smiled at me looked past me and settled on Charles.

The wine in his glass remained untouched.

The birthday celebration suddenly felt a lot less lively.

Once the birthday celebration started, Emily became the busiest person at the main table.

She was constantly apologizing, thanking everyone, and marveling at every dish that arrived.

Emily exclaimed, "This fish is gorgeous! I've only ever seen something like this on TV before.

"Mr. and Mrs. Winters, your family is so big. That's wonderful.

"Sophie, you must've been so happy growing up in a family like this."

Her words were always gentle, as if she was only expressing innocent admiration.

But every time she spoke at the table, it felt like she was subtly making everyone see how pitiful she was, and how clueless I seemed.

Cathy Green, my mother's sister, always soft-hearted, couldn't help but ask, "Are you here studying all alone, Emily?"

Emily nodded. "Yeah, after I graduated, I stayed on to help out at Chuck's company," she replied.

"Chuck?" Cathy repeated, glancing at Charles.

Charles picked up a piece of fish belly for Emily, making sure there were no bones left before handing it to her.

He explained, "I graduated two years before she did, and our advisor asked me to mentor her a bit.

"She was under a lot of pressure right after graduation, and for a while, she wasn't doing so well. I was worried she might have a hard time."

"I see." Aunt Cathy drawled.

She was always into gossip but wasn't a bad person. She probably sensed something was off and didn't press any further.

Emily lowered her head, staring at the fish in her bowl, her eyes reddening again.

"Chuck has indeed helped me a lot," she said softly.

Charles didn't look at anyone else. He said quietly to her, "Eat up."

My mom, sitting next to me, gave my knee a gentle pat under the table.

She was telling me to hold it together.

I knew what she meant.

Today was my dad's sixtieth birthday, a once-in-a-lifetime event.

I couldn't start a fight with Charles at the main table, and I couldn't lash out at a young woman who looked like she was about to cry.

Lowering my head, I took a sip of soup.

The soup was the pine mushroom soup my mom had deliberately pre-ordered from the hotel.

She said that since my dad was getting older, the birthday party shouldn't be for appearances. There should be a few dishes that are nourishing for him.

But as soon as the soup was served, Charles ladled out a bowl and set it in front of Emily.

"You've been staying up late working on your proposal. You look worn out. Have some soup first," he said.

Emily looked up at me, giving me a cautious glance.

"Sophie, why don't you try it first?" she offered softly.

"Go ahead. It's for you," Charles said and gently handed her the spoon.

"You always keep quiet when your stomach hurts," he added.

My mom froze mid-motion, her hand hovering over the soup.

She glanced up at Charles but didn't say a word.

My dad, who had been chatting with his old colleagues on the other side of the table, hadn't noticed what was happening until he heard the words "stomach hurts."

He turned and asked Charles, "Are you not feeling well?"

Before Charles could answer, Emily quickly waved her hand.

"Mr. Winters, it's not Chuck. It's me. I'm fine. It's something I've always dealt with," she chimed in.

My dad nodded. "You young people need to take better care of yourselves."

He raised his goblet, about to make the first birthday toast.

That was the plan for tonight.

As his daughter, I was meant to toast my dad first, and then Charles would join me to toast my parents.

After that, my dad would introduce Charles to everyone.

But as I stood up to get my wine glass, Charles suddenly stood up, too.

He had tea in his glass, though.

Emily was slightly taken aback, looking surprised, and whispered, "Chuck, aren't you supposed to avoid water at a banquet?"

Charles replied quietly, "I'm driving today, so water is fine."

Then he turned to my dad.

He said, "Mr. Winters, happy birthday. I brought Emily here today without giving you a heads-up, and that was my mistake.

"She doesn't have family around, and I thought you and Mrs. Winters are so generous, you wouldn't mind at all."

He spoke calmly and confidently.

Everyone at the table turned to look at him.

I stood next to him, my glass still in hand, not yet raised.

My dad's expression faded a bit.

"Well, you're already here. Sit and eat," he replied.

Charles didn't seem to notice the chill in my dad's words and continued, "Thank you and Mrs. Winters for letting her feel the lively atmosphere of a real family.

"She usually eats alone, so seeing her here today makes me feel a lot better."

As soon as Charles finished his toast, Emily stood up, too.

She held her drink, her voice shaky. "Mr. Winters, happy birthday. I'm sorry for dropping in like this. I never thought everyone would be so welcoming."

As she finished, a single tear slipped down her cheek.

Everyone started fussing around the table.

One of my aunts quickly reached for some tissues and handed them to her. "Oh, sweetheart, why are you crying? It's a happy day. No tears. Okay?"

Emily took the tissues and whispered, "It's been so long since I've sat at a table this lively."

Charles reached out and gave her a gentle, steadying hand.

"It's alright," he reassured her softly.

His voice was so gentle that it felt like the chaos of the banquet hall had nothing to do with him.

I stood there holding my glass, suddenly unsure how to make my toast.

My dad saw me and raised his hand. "Sophie, sit down and eat," he said.

As soon as he said that, everyone at the main table went silent for a moment.

Everyone knew I was his daughter.

The first toast at a birthday celebration was always made by the daughter. How could he tell me to sit down instead?

Dad offered no explanation. He set his glass down on the table, turned to a server, and said, "Please start serving the entrée."