The little girl Hazel's eyes sparkled like crushed crystal. She told him with her eyes that this ugly cake tasted delicious—at least, it was her favorite thing.

Charles Page still hadn’t said a single word to her.

Not even a thank you.

But Emma Bennett was overjoyed, her little round face rosy as she was about to follow Uncle Page outside.

Her collar was tugged from behind.

A force pulled her back a little.

She turned around in confusion and saw the little boy’s dark eyes looking down at her from above.

Emma Bennett remembered that Charles Page had done the same thing to Henry Brooks that day—dragging Henry Brooks over, and then... She instinctively wanted to cover her arm. Please don’t bite her. If Charles Page didn’t like her, she wouldn’t come again. She was afraid of pain.

She was just about to call for Uncle Page.

The silent boy put a handful of chocolates into her little pocket, then let go of her collar, signaling that she could go.

Emma Bennett felt the prickly candies in her pocket and looked up at him again.

He still hadn’t said a word to her, just turned away, picked up his pen, and sat upright to write.

The boy’s pencil characters, one after another, were neat and strong.

Chapter 6: But I’m Short

The August sunset bathed everyone in warmth. Emma Bennett spread out her little hand to show Lillian Clark.

Lying in her palm were five pieces of chocolate. Lillian Clark picked them up and looked: “That child gave these to you? These aren’t cheap.”

Five pieces of “Qishilin” chocolate in red wrappers, all produced in T City.

There wasn’t much that was special in childhood; getting candy was already a joy, let alone chocolate of this brand. When Lillian Clark married William Bennett, the Bei family was still in debt. Although Emma Bennett never lacked for anything after she was born, these little snacks were rarely bought for her.

One “Qishilin” cost two yuan. Five pieces, heavy in her hand, made a full ten yuan.

For little Emma Bennett, when she was in third grade, ten yuan was already a “fortune.” She held the “fortune” Charles Page had given her, feeling anxious. Seeing her daughter’s innocent and adorable look, Lillian Clark softened: “Since you’ve already accepted them, just keep them. Next time Mom cooks something, you can take some to Little Charles.”

Emma Bennett nodded hard and smiled: “Mom, you eat them.”

“You keep them. Mom doesn’t eat sweets.”

“Then give them to Dad.”

“Dad doesn’t like them either.”

Chocolate contains an alkali that brings happiness. Emma Bennett bit down with her two rows of little white teeth, the chocolate melting in her mouth, her eyes lighting up with a sparkling glow.

Emma Bennett only ate one piece; she couldn’t bear to eat the rest. She hid them in her drawer, planning to take them out when she craved something sweet.

In the blink of an eye, it was mid-August. On August 17th, it was Emma Bennett’s fourth birthday. Her birthday was simple: a bag of candy and a sweet egg, then off to kindergarten as usual.

The children sang the birthday song to her in their tender voices. Emma Bennett looked at the empty spot in the corner, feeling a little down.

Olivia Young said, “I’m going to pre-school this year.”

A few of the younger kids looked at her enviously.

Henry Brooks had already come to kindergarten. He was a bit older and was one of the kids going to pre-school to learn. He asked Grace Ford, “Minmin, are you going?”

Grace Ford shook her head. “I’m not going. Mom says I’m still too little.”

Henry Brooks said, “That little mute is going too. I’m definitely going to beat him up!” He imitated his father, waving his fist roughly. Being bitten so badly by a kid with no legs was both a shadow and a humiliation in Henry Brooks’s heart. He was determined to get revenge!

Emma Bennett looked at the chubby Henry Brooks and frowned.

She knew that, by rights, she should stay in kindergarten for another year. She was always a year below Charles Page, but if Charles Page’s class was full of kids like Henry Brooks, did that mean Charles Page never had any friends?

Back home, Emma Bennett asked Lillian Clark, “Can I make a birthday wish, Mom?”

Her bright eyes were clear, and she’d been especially well-behaved lately. It was as if turning four had made her much more obedient. Lillian Clark told Emma Bennett to go ahead.

“I want to go to pre-school.”

Lillian Clark rejected her without a second thought: “No, you just turned four. You have to wait until you’re five. You can’t think about flying before you’ve learned to walk. Those older kids are going to learn to write. You can stay in kindergarten and play games with your friends.”

“I don’t want to play games,” Emma Bennett said seriously. “I want to go learn to write.”

Lillian Clark didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Her daughter was a bit slow and silly; she’d always been slower to react than other kids. The teacher said that if other children needed three tries to learn a song, her Emma needed five. If five times wasn’t enough, she’d sing it ten times by herself, slowly.

Emma Bennett said she wanted to go to pre-school, but Lillian Clark just took it as a joke. Something as important as a child’s future couldn’t be left to Emma Bennett’s whims. If you fall behind at the starting line, you’ll never catch up.

Emma Bennett wasn’t discouraged by being refused. She went back to her room and came out again at dinner, showing her parents her little grid notebook.

Lillian Clark was stunned at first glance.

Both pages were filled. On the left were Chinese characters: a row of “big,” a row of “small,” and also “many” and “few.”

Emma Bennett’s writing was small, not even filling half the grid, but each stroke was careful and earnest.