The loneliness crept in before he could block it out.

He thought about the quiet moments they used to share at home-routine, maybe, but comforting and warm.

If he hadn't been giving Tilda the silent treatment, they would be enjoying a harmonious evening together right now.

And now he was giving her the cold shoulder. But why? Was it just because she hadn't told him Sheldon was his son?

No, that wasn't it. It was just that his pride was hurt- plain and simple.

She didn't love him-not the way he wanted her to-and it stung. So, he let his ego lead, pretending he didn't care.

But she was Sheldon's mother.

And for Sheldon's sake, he couldn't keep avoiding her like this.

He hesitated, then finally picked up his phone and dialed her number.

At that moment, Tilda was settling Sheldon into his seat for dinner.

The phone buzzed. She glanced down. Lyndon. Her heart skipped a beat.

He was calling? Why?

She stared out the window at the sky. The sky was now brushed with soft streaks of fading sunlight.

"Mom, your phone's ringing. Why aren't you answering it?" Sheldon asked, looking suspiciously innocent.

He already guessed it was from his dad.

Despite Lyndon's general lack of romantic flair, he was trying now.

"You guys start eating. I'll take the call," Tilda said, getting up and walking to the living room to answer the phone. "Hello?"

There was a short pause before Lyndon's familiar deep voice came through the line. "Sheldon said you're experiencing a headache. Are you overworking yourself?"

Tilda blinked. A headache?

She instinctively glanced toward the dining room. Sure enough, Sheldon was peeking at her from his seat.

When their eyes met, he quickly looked away, pretending he hadn't been watching.

So this was his doing—trying to win her some sympathy points.

This meant that if it hadn't been for Sheldon, Lyndon wouldn't have called at all.

Her chest tightened slightly, the mix of disappointment and irritation bubbling up.