Chapter 3: The Time-Out Room

Mr. Smith’s face wore a polite yet distant smile.

“I’m taking the young master to the time-out room. He did something wrong. This is Mr. Yu’s rule—he must learn what he did wrong.”

Me: “...”

“He’s only seven.”

“Ma’am, this is the Yu family’s rule. You’ve just arrived and don’t understand yet. You’ll get used to it.”

Me...

I could never get used to it.

“Put him down.”

Mr. Smith looked back at me, his gaze meaningful.

“Ma’am, this was set by Mr. Yu. You’d better wait for him to come back and discuss it with him. Otherwise, if he gets angry, we can’t explain it.”

“Put him down, or pack your things and leave.”

Mr. Smith looked at me and smiled.

“We’ve been in the Yu family for over twenty years, and these rules have been in place for decades. Mr. Yu grew up this way. Ma’am, you’ve only been here a day—it’s not appropriate to change the rules. You’d better win Mr. Yu’s favor and secure your position first.”

He swaggered away with Caleb, ignoring his struggles and cries, not even caring if he was hungry or choking.

My eyes darkened, a bit angry.

Maybe I misjudged the original host.

Caleb growing up to be a cold, ruthless, violent bead-stringer isn’t all the original host’s fault. Derek Yu is to blame too, and so are these butlers and staff...

I followed them to the time-out room.

It was a small, windowless, dark room.

Mr. Smith opened the door, locked Caleb inside, and I squeezed in as well.

Mr. Smith was annoyed but just sneered, didn’t say a word, and slammed the door shut.

I turned on my phone’s flashlight. Caleb had been crying, but when he saw me, he immediately stopped.

I reached out to take his little hand.

He shook it off.

I grabbed again.

He shook it off again.

I whispered, “Can you let me hold your hand? It’s so dark here, I’m scared.”

Caleb was silent.

This time, when I reached for his hand, he didn’t shake me off, but turned his head away, refusing to look at me.

His fists balled so tight his knuckles went white, but his eyes—wet and furious—wouldn’t meet mine.

“Why did you come in here with me?”

“I was worried about you.”

“You’re lying. I’m a bad kid, no one likes me.”

“Who said that? I like you. On my first day here, none of the staff spoke to me—only you talked to me, showed me the way, helped me find clothes. I’ve never seen such a kind and lovely kid as you.”

“But... I’m picky with food, I smashed the plate, I curse and hit people.”

He spoke self-deprecatingly, but there was a hint of seeking approval in his tone.

My heart softened.

How much blame must he have endured to think so poorly of himself?

“I’m picky with food too. Who isn’t? Everyone is. Adults just make what they like and never make what they don’t like. They bully kids because kids can’t shop or cook, so they call kids picky. That’s so unfair. If I were treated like this, I’d smash plates, curse, and hit people too. What you did shows you have a spirit of resistance—you’re a kid who doesn’t give in easily. No difficulty can defeat you. I like you so much.”

“R...really? Adults are picky too?”

“Of course. I don’t eat broccoli. Have you ever seen Mrs. Lewis or Mr. Smith not eat something? Think carefully, you must have. If a certain dish never appears on your table, it’s because Mrs. Lewis or Mr. Smith don’t like it.”

I opened the grocery app for him.

His small fingers scrolled down, and his eyes instantly brightened.

“Brussels sprouts never appear, nor does kale.”

I nodded in understanding.

“When we get out, we’ll make them eat Brussels sprouts every day.”

“Okay.”

He perked up, leaning closer to me.

I patted his little head, and he froze for a moment, then turned his head slightly, a little shy.

Suddenly he said, “But yesterday you said I was that kind of kid. Am I a bad kid?”

Heh.

You really remembered that until today, little rascal.

I smiled: “Of course not. I meant only kids who did something wrong are called by their full name. You didn’t do anything wrong, so I don’t want to call you by your full name—just your nickname.”

Caleb’s lips quickly curled up, then he awkwardly pressed them down.

He pretended to say casually, “My mom called me Cal.”

“Okay, Cal. My name is Natalie. You can call me Aunt Natalie or just Natalie.”

We sat together for a while. I felt that waiting like this wasn’t a solution. The environment here was depressing and the air stuffy.

I can’t imagine how many times Caleb had to endure being locked in here.

Anyone who locks a seven-year-old in here is a monster.

I held back my anger and called Derek Yu.

But no one answered. When I called again, it went straight to voicemail.

I stared at the phone, that sick feeling crawling up my spine—the kind you get when you realize you’re on your own.

Caleb snorted coldly.

“It’s useless. Mom couldn’t get through to him either. Even when she was sick, he wouldn’t answer.”

For a moment, the little dark room felt even colder. Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed the hour. I looked at the missed call screen and thought about all the times my own dad had left my mom’s calls on read. Kids remember stuff like that, even if they pretend not to.