Back when they lived at the Pruitt estate, Hildegarde had forbidden him from cooking noodles. Once, when Penelope had begged for a bowl of his vegetable egg noodles, he'd secretly made one for her. But Hildegarde and her mother Rosemary Dickerson had walked in right as he set it down. The looks on their faces could have curdled milk.
His mother-in-law had ignored Penelope's sobs and dumped the entire bowl straight into the trash.
Then she'd jabbed a finger in his face and called it street-stall garbage, warning him never to make such low-class slop again.
It would drag down the family's standards, she'd said.
"Daddy, can you make me noodles every morning from now on?"
Watching his daughter slurp down her breakfast, Wilfred smiled. "Of course. Whatever you want to eat, I'll make it."
"Then after school, can you take me for fried chicken?"
Penelope's eyes sparkled with longing.
"Sure."
After breakfast, Wilfred drove her to the preschool.
At the gates, he spotted the Land Cruiser the Pruitt family's nanny drove.