Smore was already wide awake. Arianne had, in a sweet gesture, placed the child next to Mark on their bed. When Mark looked, his eyes were met with Smore’s big, watery ones as he muttered, “Mwilk… Want mwilk…”
Mark rubbed his face, forced himself to be awake, and carried Smore off the bed with one hand before heading down the stairs to make him some milk. Unfortunately, he had never done this before, and now, he was having trouble figuring out the amount of milk powder alone.
He was just about to try filling half of the milk bottle with powder before pouring half a bottle of water when Mary quickly swooped in for the rescue. “Oh, Mr. Tremont! Let me handle this. It will take just a jiffy; you can distract Master Aristotle in the meantime. Now, if you’re in a hurry, you could always go. I’ll help Master Aristotle change first, then.”
Mark still looked a little too blue. “I’m not in any hurry. I could go to my office a little while later.”
Smore looked around him and started crying out for his mom, which did not help Mark’s melancholy at all. “Gosh, Smore, Mom’s left us. She’s not coming back until after a week. No point shouting for her now.”
Mary watched the pitiful state the father-son duo had sunken into since Arianne was unavailable, and her laughter burbled out of her. “Well, I’ll be! Who would have thought you’d take Madam’s temporary absence so hard, Mr. Tremont?”
“Me? Taking her absence hard? Utter nonsense!” Mark denied loudly. “Screw a week. I can go on without her not just for a week, but for a month or even a year!”
He immediately regretted what he said. If Arianne were to not be home for a month or a year, Mark did not know whether he or Smore would devolve into a crying fit first.
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