I Owe the Tyrant Four Little Heirs novel Chapter 37

His own weakness had already led to Niamh having an unhappy childhood; he was determined not to let her children suffer the same fate.

“Grandpa!”

“Grandpa!”

“Grandpa!”

The other three children heard his voice and came running, crowding into the frame and shouting excitedly.

Just then, Lyric, who had gone to put the mop away on the balcony, walked past and glanced at the phone. Seeing Cassian on the screen, she gave a friendly wave, thinking he had a kind face.

Cassian saw the elegantly dressed woman and smiled back, wondering who she was. He’d never seen her before. Why did she look a little like Niamh?

“Grandpa, that’s Lyric. She’s our new neighbor. She’s a really, really nice lady,” Keir explained, noticing his grandfather’s confusion. “She’s the one who picked us up from school today.”

“Is that so? Well, did the four of you thank her properly?” Cassian said, realizing this must be the landlady Niamh had mentioned. His daughter had always had a knack for attracting good people into her life.

“Mommy invited her to stay for dinner. Does that count as a thank you?” Keir asked.

“Yes, of course it does,” Cassian laughed.

As Lyric passed by again, Cassian called out gratefully, “Ma’am, thank you for your help.”

“Niamh, if my daughter were still alive, she would be your age now,” Lyric said with a sigh.

Niamh glanced at her, sensing her sadness. So Lyric’s daughter had passed away...

She took her hand gently. “Lyric, if you don’t mind, you can think of me as your daughter.”

“You’re a good child,” Lyric said, her eyes filled with gratitude.

For a fleeting moment, Niamh felt like the daughter she had abandoned so long ago. But she knew it was just wishful thinking. She had left her baby in such a remote place… if the hunger didn’t kill her, the cold surely would have.

After dinner, Niamh checked the children’s homework as she did every evening. By the time she finished, it was eight o’clock. She bathed the kids, then did the laundry and mopped the floors, not stopping until nine-thirty.