"Cyrus, you're the oldest brother. You must help take care of your younger siblings at kindergarten. Grace can be naughty, so keep an eye on her."
Henry Thompson would say this every day, and Cyrus never seemed to tire of it, always obediently agreeing.
But Hank Thompson was not so agreeable.
He pouted with breadcrumbs still on the corners of his mouth: "Uncle, we're not children anymore. Does Cyrus really have to watch us every second of the day?"
Barely finishing his sentence, he seemed to suddenly remember something.
He shifted his chair closer to Henry and made faces at Cyrus, but spoke to his uncle.
"Uncle, all these years, we've never seen our father since we were born. Do you know who our father is, and where he is now?"
His voice was neither loud nor quiet. Cyrus, who was sitting close, naturally heard.
He frowned slightly, silently lamenting his younger brother's inability to keep secrets, but still couldn't resist glancing in his uncle's direction.