A Journey from Bitterness to Truth (Matilda and Yvan) novel Chapter 223

Matilda took Logan for another trip to the school registrar's office the next day, and the boy was buzzing with excitement. He had a brand-new backpack slung over his shoulders, every pencil and notebook meticulously arranged within. As Matilda handled the paperwork with the school officials, Logan stood by, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"Logan, school's starting in just a few days, and you've gotta take it seriously, okay?" Matilda paid the tuition and then gave him a little tour of the school. When they left in the afternoon, Logan was already a bit reluctant to leave. "Mommy, am I boarding or coming home each day?"

"I'll be dropping you off and picking you up," Matilda said with a smile. "You're still my little guy, and I'd worry too much with you staying away from home." What worried her more was the thought of Yvan and his cronies showing up when she wasn't around.

Surprisingly, when they got home, Orson was awake, lounging on the couch in a dress shirt and slacks, lazily flipping through his phone with a can of cola in hand. He looked rather domestic in his own unkempt way.

Matilda had always pegged Orson as the kind of hermit who could hole up for a month if left to his own devices, only emerging for the sake of his job.

Hearing them come in, Orson looked up. Logan bounded over, saying, "Uncle Orson, I'm starting school tomorrow!"

Orson reached for a box beside him. "Here, got you a little something."

So that was why he was up and about today, dressed to the nines—it must have been a special trip to the mall.

Logan carefully unwrapped the package and gasped. Inside lay a sleek fountain pen, tied with a red ribbon, gleaming and new. "Thank you, Uncle Orson!"

"How much did this set you back?" Matilda couldn't help but lean in for a closer look and hissed, "This must've cost a pretty penny. He's just a kid, he doesn't need anything this fancy..."

"I bought it, so what?" Orson didn't look up from his phone. "He likes it, that's all that matters. Why are you fretting? It's not your money."

His words had a chill to them, but there was an undercurrent that was distinctly Orson—his real point was that the kid's happiness was what mattered most, and the cost was trivial to him.