Later, as they were cleaning the kitchen, Elma brought it up again. Tilda was pouring herself a glass of water when Elma asked softly, "Tilda, are you sure you didn't argue with Mr. Fernandez?"

Tilda paused mid-pour, then said calmly, "Elma, I haven't told you this yet-but Lyndon knows. He found out he's Sheldon's biological father."

Elma froze, the dish she'd been rinsing forgotten in the sink. Her face lit up with shock-and joy. "Really? That's wonderful!" So the truth had finally come out. Surely now, things between them would get better.

But then, her excitement dimmed almost immediately as another thought surfaced.

"Tilda.. did the fight happen because of that?" "Yes." So that was it.

Elma's brow creased. "Why? He's upset you didn't tell him sooner?"

Tilda nodded. "Exactly."

Elma let out a sigh, clearly frustrated. "Well, yes, it wasn't right to keep it from him. but still, there's no need for him to overreact like this. Can't you two just talk it out?"

If only it were that simple.

But Lyndon was being incredibly petty, refusing to let the issue go.

Tilda took a sip of water, her lips tugging into a faint, wry smile.

Elma glanced over. "Tilda, do his parents know too?" "They do." "And how did they take it?"

At the thought of her in-laws, Tilda's expression softened. "They were understanding. They didn't blame me at all."

That part, at least, had gone better than expected. Lyndon's parents were calm, reasonable people.

Too bad their son was not that kind of person.

"That's a relief," Elma said with a small nod. Then she added gently, "Still, Tilda, you did hide something important from him. It's understandable that he's hurt. Maybe you should be the one to break the ice. Don't be stubborn."

Tilda straightened, frowning. "Why me? He's the one being petty. I'm not backing down."

Elma chuckled. "Come on. In marriage, when there's tension, someone has to take the first step. And for Sheldon's sake, maybe that someone should be you."

Tilda was silent, her hands wrapped around the warm cup in her palms.

Of course she wanted to get along with Lyndon—for Sheldon, if nothing else.

But the way he'd handled things—his cold attitude, his sharp words—it made her blood boil just thinking about it.

No matter how much she wanted peace, her pride wouldn't let her reach out first.

Maybe when the anger wore off, she'd reconsider. But not now. The cold war between them stretched on for another week.

Every few days, Brea would call Tilda under the guise of a casual conversation, subtly slipping in updates about Lyndon.