The Wilfred she knew was back.
Years ago, he'd been hailed as a prodigy. At twelve, he'd entered Seabrook Tech University's gifted program. Four consecutive years, he'd won gold at the International Fermat Mathematics Competition.
At eighteen, he'd earned a top-tier FIA racing license.
For three years after that, he'd competed in the Bramblebrook World Rally Championship, posting impressive results.
Before twenty-two, Wilfred's life had been dazzling—flowers and applause at every turn.
Then, at twenty-three, instead of pursuing his PhD abroad as planned, he'd suddenly chosen to marry into the Pruitt family.
He'd abandoned his studies. Abandoned his career. Devoted himself entirely to being a husband and father.
He'd vanished from the public eye.
A rising star, extinguished without a sound.
Screech!
Tires shrieked against asphalt. White smoke billowed as the Range Rover lurched to a stop at the roadside.
Margery's Maserati shot past, barely missing it.
Why had he stopped so suddenly?
She pulled over too, parking just ahead of his hood.
Inside the Range Rover, Wilfred's phone was ringing.
"Hello, is this Mr. Dickerson? I'm the homeroom teacher at your daughter's preschool." A sweet, gentle voice came through the speaker.
Wilfred recognized Ms. Perry.
"Yes, Ms. Perry. What's going on?"
"Mr. Dickerson, I'm so glad I reached you. Here's the situation: your older daughter Hilary brought a bag of honey buns to school this morning. She shared them with her classmates, and now several children have food poisoning—vomiting, diarrhea, the works. The parents are all here demanding an explanation."
Honey buns?
Wilfred recalled that morning, when he'd dropped Penelope off. Hilary had been carrying a paper bag.
If he had to guess, Patrick had prepared it for her.
"Ms. Perry, here's the thing. I've divorced Hilary's mother. She has custody, so anything that happens with Hilary at school isn't my responsibility. You should call her mother. Or contact her new dad."
"What??"
On the other end, Lola Perry was stunned.
She hadn't expected him to say that.
But even after a divorce, shouldn't a parent still handle their child's problems?
"Um, Mr. Dickerson, Hilary said the honey buns were prepared by you. So technically, you'd be the one responsible."
Angry voices erupted in the background.