'He's so young, yet so sensible, obedient, and well-behaved. It's bad enough he has a scumbag dad, but how could his own mother be so heartless? She knew the dad was a scumbag and still sent the child to him.'
'What kind of unavoidable hardship could possibly force her to be separated from her own flesh and blood?'
The more Clara Grant thought about it, the angrier she got. She forcefully tore off a piece of bread, tossed it into her mouth, and muttered to Cherie, "Your mother is really something else. How could she come up with such a terrible idea like stuffing you in a suitcase? Wasn't she afraid you'd suffocate!"
This was something Seth Quinn had mentioned earlier, and to be honest, she was also very curious about it.
Cherie, who had been feeling a bit guilty, relaxed when he saw she wasn't fixated on what he'd said. He blurted out without thinking, "I wouldn't have suffocated. The suitcase had little holes drilled in it."
"..."
Clara's chewing and the movement of her hands both froze. 'Am I supposed to praise his mom for being so thoughtful?'
"Right, give me the small knife you used to cut the suitcase."
She had almost forgotten about that. It was incredibly dangerous for such a young child to be carrying such a sharp "weapon."
Cherie was quite straightforward about it, pulling the small knife from his pocket and handing it to her.
As Clara took it, she began to lecture him on safety. "Where did you get this knife? Don't you know that children shouldn't carry such dangerous things? What if you cut yourself? A simple cut is one thing, but what if you'd killed yourself?... Then again, you're surprisingly strong. That suitcase was made of fabric, but it couldn't have been that easy to rip open, yet you managed to cut through it so quickly."
Cherie took a sip of cola, his cheeks puffed out as he shook his head. Only after swallowing did he speak. "My mom gave me this knife. It's not that I'm strong, the knife is just really sharp. My mom said it can... 'cut through iron like mud.'"
Clara was speechless again. 'Cherie's mother is just too unreliable! She knew it could 'cut through iron like mud' and still dared to give it to a five-year-old!'
She had only met Cherie's mom once, but at the time, she hadn't seemed like an unreliable mother. 'This just proves you really can't judge a book by its cover!'
Clara folded the knife and put it in her bag. "I'll hold onto this for you. When your mom comes to pick you up, I'll give it back to her."
Hearing this, Cherie looked up at her. His expression looked like... pity.
In the end, he just said, "Okay, sister."
"You should probably call me Auntie. Calling me 'sister' makes it sound like I'm trying to act young." Although she was only twenty-two, Cherie was just a five-year-old boy, so she felt 'Auntie' was more appropriate.
"But I like calling you sister! Besides, you're already so young and pretty. If I call you Auntie, wouldn't that just make you sound old? Right, sister?"
"Heh, you little rascal. You're such a sweet-talker." Amused, Clara ruffled his hair and smiled.
"Sweet-talking is how you get the girls!" Cherie normally hated people touching his head—he was even a little reluctant when his own mom did it. But as Clara ruffled his hair, he didn't mind at all. In fact, it felt nice.
Clara didn't know whether to laugh or cry. 'Are all kids these days this precocious? He already knows about getting girls.'
"Who told you that?"
"My dad... My godfather told me."
Clara wasn't smiling anymore. 'Godfather? Could it be that Cherie's mother sent him back to Seth Quinn because she's going to marry this so-called godfather and was afraid Cherie would be a burden?'
'But how could she bear to part with such a sensible, adorable, and sweet-talking child?'