The Toddler Spills the Tea

It was rare for her to post anything on her social media feed.

A moment later, Violette Ellis received another notification. This time, it wasn't a comment, but a direct message. She checked the name and tapped it open.

Chloe Nichols: I'm sorry about the other day.

Chloe Nichols: I've been thinking about it a lot since I got home. I was way out of line. As a friend, my first priority should be to respect you, then express my opinions. If we disagreed, I should have backed off.

A few days had passed, and the heat of the moment had long since faded. Violette leaned against the edge of the bed, mulling over a reply.

Violette: Why does this sound like a formal confession letter?

Chloe called her immediately.

"You're not mad at me anymore?"

Mindful of the child sleeping nearby, Violette lowered her voice. "If I stayed mad over a little thing like that, I’d be far too busy. I wouldn’t have time for anything else but holding a grudge."

Chloe chuckled. "You’ve been radio silent for days. I thought you were done with me."

"I took a trip to Europe. A girl can only be in so many places at once, friend."

As far as Chloe knew, Blake Pierce was currently in Europe. They had just fought over this very topic, and knowing Violette as she did, she was certain Violette wasn't the type to be cold to someone’s face while secretly jetting off across the ocean to see them.

Chloe didn't know how to respond, terrified of guessing wrong and making things awkward all over again.

Violette knew she was overthinking it, so she clarified, "Roman is in Berlin. I went to find him."

"Oh. I see."

There was a silence on the other end, then Chloe said, "You two seem to be getting along quite well."

"And why wouldn't we?" Violette teased. "Was I lying to you before?"

"No, it’s just—you got married so abruptly!"

Chloe finally had an opening to vent. She gathered her thoughts. "Look, if I’d been blissfully happy with a guy for two years and it all went up in flames, and then I turned around and married someone else within three months, what would you think? I spent the whole time wondering if you were just revenge-marrying!"

The child next to her shifted. Violette covered the mouthpiece with her hand, whispering even lower. "But I’ve been telling you all along—Roman is a good man."

"But do you love him?" Chloe went for the jugular.

It was hard to say. She wasn't sure yet.

Violette tilted her head back, her neck arching until it pressed into the corner of the pillow.

"I think I’m starting to like him."

On the other end of the line, Chloe gasped, as if covering her mouth in shock. "So, when you guys got married, there was absolutely nothing there?"

"That doesn't stop us from being happy now," Violette said with a smile.

As she spoke, she turned her head and found herself staring into a pair of wide, dark eyes.

The little boy had woken up at some point and was sitting there, blinking, staring blankly at her. Their eyes locked. The child didn't seem fully awake; he just recognized that the person in front of him wasn't a familiar face. His lower lip quivered. A second later, he looked ready to burst into tears.

Violette was in over her head. "I have to go, I’m babysitting."

She tossed her phone aside.

Sure enough, the very next second:

"Waaaaah—"

"..."

Violette had zero experience with children. She eventually sacrificed her phone, using Peppa Pig to bribe him into silence. She didn't care if it was a cartoon about pigs jumping in muddy puddles; as long as the crying stopped, it was a masterpiece.

This resulted in Roman’s next two calls going straight to voicemail.

A few minutes later, Roman, deep in the heart of Berlin, received a text.

Violette: Watching Peppa Pig. Do not disturb.

The afternoon conference was long and insipid. True to Violette’s words, the German penchant for craftsmanship was admirable, but the endless procedural loops made progress feel nonexistent.

The afternoon session had just begun, and it looked like it would drag on for hours. Roman opened his phone. The fountain pen in his hand stalled the moment he saw the words "Peppa Pig." By the time he registered it, a jagged ink stain had already ruined his pristine notes.

He frowned.

His first reaction wasn't to think of the social media post she’d made earlier about the child, but rather to turn his head and lock eyes with Alan Perez, his secretary, who was waiting nearby.

Alan caught the signal and leaned in. "Is there something you need me to handle, sir?"

The meeting’s interpreter saw the movement and instinctively slowed her pace, subtly signaling for the middle-aged man on the podium to pause.

The room fell into a sudden, tense silence.

Among the sea of Western faces, the two Asian men stood out. As the project’s major investor, every move Roman made drew intense scrutiny. They watched him whisper something, his brow furrowed.

After the order was given, the secretary’s own eyebrows shot up, as if he’d been hit with a life-or-death crisis.

The atmosphere turned icy.

The man on stage leaned over to the interpreter and whispered in German, "What are they talking about?"

Sitting some distance away, the interpreter hadn't caught the full sentence, but she could have sworn she heard the words "Peppa Pig." She brushed the thought aside, certain she must have misheard—it couldn't possibly be that Peppa Pig.

The interpreter shook her head. "It’s too far away. I can’t hear them."

"You don't think they're going to pull their funding, do you?"

Before the room could descend into further internal panic, Roman signaled with his right hand for the meeting to continue. Alan Perez retreated from the conference room, utterly baffled, cornering the assistant waiting at the door. "Is 'Peppa Pig' some kind of new corporate slang?"

"Huh?" The assistant was even more confused.

"I don't know," Alan wiped sweat from his nose. "Mr. Griffin asked about it during the meeting. Go look it up, quickly."

It wasn't until the meeting ended and Roman scrolled back through her social media feed that he finally understood what the text meant.

She was babysitting, and the kid had been using her phone. As for whose kid it was—friend or relative—his own curiosity felt a bit redundant.

Roman lowered his head and chuckled to himself.

He really was always putting the cart before the horse when it came to Violette.

A glance to the side caught Alan standing a few feet away, clutching a stack of files, looking agonizingly conflicted.

"What’s with the face?" Roman walked over, genuinely concerned.

"Mr. Griffin," Alan said sheepishly, "I’ve been searching for a while, but I couldn't find the internet slang you were talking about. Did I look for the wrong thing, or—"

Roman waved a hand. "My mistake."

For some reason, Alan felt an immense weight lift off his shoulders. Perhaps it was the relief of knowing he hadn't failed at his job, or perhaps the boss’s tone made the air feel suddenly light. The grueling, hours-long meeting hadn't soured his mood after all. Outside, the sky was still clear and bright.

Back in Deepwater, Violette, whose career in childcare had ended in a spectacular crash, was dealing with something far more exasperating.

When the parents finally returned and the child was successfully handed over, the parents beamed. "Baby, did you have fun with your Auntie?"

"Fun," the toddler chirped.

Violette felt she was off the hook, right until she heard Charles Ellis ask, "What did Auntie play with you?"

He didn't mention the nap, and he didn't mention the glorious Peppa Pig jumping in mud. His little brain spun for a moment until he recalled the idle chatter he'd overheard when he first opened his eyes.

"Auntie was on the phone, and she said she likes an Uncle Roman."

"..."

Catherine Palmer laughed nervously, trying to cover it up. "Oh my, why would you tell a child that?"

Violette was speechless.

She had no idea that a child could look so innocent and blank while filing away every single word she said.

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