"Okay."

"I'LL get the table ready," Elma said.

“Thank you."

Lyndon, followed by a grinning Sheldon, headed to the dining room, ignoring Tilda's gaze.

Watching his tall, straight back, Tilda remembered the first time he had come here.

They had argued about parenting, and he had boldly suggested marriage.

But this time, he acted as if he were at home.

Tilda felt a mild headache coming on.

"Tilda, come here," Sheldon called, seated next to Lyndon.

Snapping back to reality, Tilda adjusted her glasses and was about to sit opposite them when Sheldon patted the chair beside him.

“Sit next to me," he said, smiling.

Tilda glanced at Lyndon, who was sitting on Sheldon's other side, and inwardly groaned. The little boy seemed to want both of them by his side.

Despite her internal complaints, Tilda sat next to Sheldon.

Sheldon's eyes sparkled with excitement.

Elma handed out the plates and forks, and Tilda began to prepare soup for Sheldon as was her habit.

“Tilda, let Dad get me some soup," Sheldon interjected.

Tilda paused, momentarily speechless. He wouldn't even let her ladle the soup for him? Reluctantly, she stopped what she was doing, feeling slightly aggrieved.

Lyndon, unbothered, filled a bowl of soup for Sheldon.

"Dad, please get Tilda a bowl of soup too," Sheldon chirped.

Lyndon raised an eyebrow and looked at him, making no move to comply.