I lifted the homeless kid’s chin.
“Lindon?!”
‘My son… is begging on the street?!’
Lindon clearly didn’t recognize me. He flinched and instinctively backed away.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, sir! I’ll go beg somewhere else!”
Watching him scramble to pick up his chipped plate and worn plastic spoon in a panic, wearing those tattered clothes, my eyes immediately welled up.
This was my son—once a bold, fiery little prince who couldn’t be tamed by anyone. How had he become so timid and afraid?!
Suddenly, I remembered Weston wearing my son’s clothes. That bastard, not even five years old, was decked out in gold and jewels. A wave of dread surged through my chest.
I spun around and grabbed Darcy by the arm.
“What’s really going on between you and Wyatt?” I asked, demanding an explanation.
“Bryden?” She winced; my grip had clearly hurt her.
“Why is Wyatt’s son dressed like royalty while our son is out here begging on the street? Don’t tell me you’re just being kind to that father and son!”
Just as I was about to get physical again, my son suddenly threw himself at my leg and held on tightly.
“No! No, it’s not like that, Dad! I was just…” He shot a nervous glance at his mom. “I was just… experiencing life…”
“Experiencing life?” I repeated, stunned.
Darcy looked a bit wronged. “Honey, you know how stubborn our son is. If he’s going to inherit the company one day, we can’t let him grow up reckless.”
“After you left,” she continued, “I’ve been trying to temper his nature. Letting him beg was just one method of teaching him.”
“Teaching him by having him beg on the street?!” I snapped.
My son hurriedly pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Dad! Mom told me to observe people from a homeless perspective. Every month I go to a different area. This month is the rich street.”
He pointed to the paper. “I have to write a report for Mom after each assignment. Look—I’ve already written half of the one for the rich street.”
I stared at the report, stunned.
In my son’s childish handwriting were detailed observations of people’s behavior—patterns, preferences, even an analysis of their needs.
This was the same boy who used to be completely unmanageable, wild to the core, and couldn’t sit still long enough to learn anything. No one could keep him in line.
Darcy gave me a somewhat aggrieved look.
“Honey, you’re the one who told me, after you left, to take care of him and discipline him properly…” she reasoned. “I’ve tried so many methods. If I’m not strict, he won’t listen at all…”
I had said that.
And honestly, I had to admit, I was pleasantly surprised by the results. I’d never seen our son this well-behaved.
I helped him pack up his little setup.
“Let’s skip the begging part from now on,” I said. “We’ll come up with a new method tomorrow.”
After we got home, I drafted a brand-new development plan for him.
And just like that, he never begged on the streets again.
The vacation leave my superior approved was down to its final day. As I was packing up to return to work, I received a call from Lindon’s school.
“Hello, is this President Coldwell’s husband? Sorry to bother you, but could you please be more involved in your son’s life? You can’t just leave everything to his mother.”
I frowned. “My son’s been really well-behaved lately.”
“Sir, I understand that you might have a bias as a parent, but your son has injured five of his classmates just this week,” the teacher reported.
“Your wife has managed to smooth things over each time,” she added, “but you really can’t let this go on unchecked!”
I was fuming.
‘Could it be that what Darcy said was right? When dealing with a wild child like Lindon, do I really have to be a bit harsh?’
I dropped my luggage and rushed straight to the school.
Just as I reached the door of the administrative office, I heard shouting from inside.
Hold on… That voice…
I shoved the door open in a panic.
Inside, Weston was in the middle of an angry shouting match with a group of injured children. He was so worked up he nearly threw another punch. It took everything the teachers had to pull him back.
