<b>Chapter </b><b>118 </b>
In no time, she tugged <b>over </b>a little wagon stacked high with her <b>toy </b><b>race </b>cars.
Yvonne sorted them out one by one and then handed me <b>a </b>remote control. “Mom, <b>let’s </b><b>race.</b><b>” </b>
I looked at her, a swirl of emotions in my chest. I just couldn’t bring myself to <b>leave </b>her behind. She was <b>still </b>so little. Whenever she flitted in front of me, I’d always <b>space </b>out for a moment.
“Mom, hurry up. Let’s y. The loser has to do whatever the winner says,” Yvonne pleaded, pouting at me.
That actually got me interested. “Really? The loser really has to obey?”
Yvonne nodded eagerly. “Promise. No backing out.”
That look on her <b>face </b>really fired up mypetitive spirit.
No matter how smart Yvonne was, she was still just a kid. In my previous life, whenever we yed games, I’d always let her win on purpose, just so she could taste what victory felt like.
Then I’d shower her with praise, using encouragement as my way of teaching her.
“Mom, you’re way too fast. Slow down.” Yvonne thought I’d go easy on her like I always did, but today, I just zoomed ahead with my car, leaving her far behind.
She got so worked up that she started stomping her feet in frustration.
“Mom, let’s go again. I’m definitely going to beat you this time,” Yvonne said, her stubborn streak ring up.
“Alright, bring it on,” I replied, nodding calmly.
In the second and third rounds, I won again. Yvonne sat on the grass with her knees tucked under her, lips pouting, and eyes brimming with tears.
In frustration, Yvonne flung the remote control down onto the ground. “It’s not fair. You’re a grown–up. Of course, you’re faster than me. This is so unfair.”
I looked at the toys she’d thrown aside and reminded her sternly, “Pick those up and put them back in the toy room.”
“I don’t want to. Mom, you’re bullying me.” Yvonne hugged her knees to her chest and buried her face, sulking.
“I’m counting to three.” By now, I didn’t believe that gentle encouragement would work on Yvonne anymore. Maybe it was time to try some tough love and see if the old ways could actually make her behave.
Yvonne looked up at me, wide–eyed and a little lost. The moment I got to two, she jumped up and scrambled to pick up the toys, yelling, “Mom<b>, </b>stop counting. Can’t you see I’m cleaning up already?”
I watched as she packed up all her toys into her trailer and hauled it back to the toy room as fast as she could.
When she came running back out, I didn’t waste a second. “You said the loser has to listen, right? Well, I want you to pull up all those <b>weeds </b>over there. No dinner until you finish.”
“What? That’s way too much<b>.</b><b>” </b>Yvonne scrunched up her <b>face</b>. “Mom, please don’t make me do this. You’re the best mom <b>ever</b>. I love you so much.”
“Go on, get to work,” I said, totally unmoved by her <b>sweet </b>talk.
Yvonne pouted, her eyes brimming with tears, but <b>she </b>still shuffled over to the weeds, looking back at me every <b>few </b>steps. It was not that she couldn’t do it. She just didn’t want to.
Wendy came out, nced over, and with a big smile, praised Yvonne for her hard work. Yvonne froze for a moment, then perked right up and started yanking out the weeds even faster.
I sat nearby, supervising her. Halfway through, Yvonne suddenly whipped out her smartwatch, pulling weeds with one hand while calling Jared with the other.
It wasn’t long before Jared’s voice came through. “Yvonne, what’s wrong? I’m still having dinner.”
“Dad, hurry home and rescue me. Mom’s making me pull weeds in the garden, and she says <b>I </b>can’t eat until I’m done,” Yvonne said, not crying, but sounding as pitiful as could be.
I thought for sure Jared would say a fewforting words to her, and then turn around and criticize my parenting.
But instead, Jared just chuckled warmly on the other end, his voice smooth as whiskey. “Really? Well, then you better listen to your mom. Finish pulling those weeds, and she’ll let you eat.”
AD