Winston thought he had guided the conversation naturally, but he was completely wrong. Instead, the child snapped back to reality. The coquettish and haughty expression she had worn until then vanished all at once, replaced by a cynical look unbefitting her age. Winston immediately realized his mistake.
“Campbell, you said poor kids like me don’t get presents.”
He had even allowed her to call him “Winnie,” but Angela had never once done so. Now she was calling him “Mr. Campbell.” Winston’s insides burned, and he wanted to slap his own cheek hard. Fool, you rushed too much.
“You’re not poor anymore. You’re my daughter.”
Though Winston had dropped the butler act and spoken as himself, even with a carefully crafted gentle tone, the child wasn’t easily swayed.
“I’m me. And you’re the rich one, not me.”
Was this child really four years old?
Even if she was reciting lines from books or dramas, perfectly quoting or imitating dialogue was far from ordinary.
She must be incredibly smart.
Along with an urge to find out her IQ came an unexpected feeling of pride. How wonderful it was that Angela’s brilliance made him so happy. It was almost as if she truly were his own child.
His lips involuntarily broke into a smile, but reason returned quickly. This was no time to be simply pleased. Clearing his throat, Winston changed tactics.
“Angie, Santa will really come this year. Will you trust me just this once?”
He asked soothingly in the softest voice he could manage, but distrust filled the child’s face. Angela simply scrunched her nose and looked at him, answering with that expression alone. Winston spoke again.
“I know why Santa hasn’t come to you until now.”
“...Really?”
Though still skeptical, Angela’s brief silence revealed her inner turmoil. Winston nodded.
“The reason Santa hasn’t come for you yet is because he’s been busy visiting poorer kids. He thought you’d understand.”
Winston ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) spun the story using Angela’s maturity. As expected, Angela pursed her lips seriously and fell into thought. Winston pressed on without giving her much time to ponder.
“You’ve been patient all this time, so this year let’s ask Santa for a present too. How about it? Is there something you want?”
It took Angela only a few seconds to answer, but to Winston the silence felt unbearably long. He quietly restrained the urge to press her again. That was enough persuasion. Anything more would be coercion. Now, all he could do was hope Angela believed him.
As he inwardly lamented his own meager patience, Angela finally spoke.
“Santa knows without me saying.”
“That’s not true.”
Winston carefully continued, trying not to snatch the rainbow before his eyes.
“Santa only knows if you tell him. Here’s what we’ll do: you’ll write a letter to Santa. Since you’ve been so patient, you can ask him for the gift you want this year.”
Not missing his chance, Winston picked up his suit jacket lying on the floor, pulled an envelope from the inside pocket, and took out a letter sheet to give her. Angela stared hard at the recipient address.
“Is this Santa’s house?”
“No. This is where they collect mail to send to Santa. If you write the letter here, they’ll deliver it to Santa.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie. That address was Winston’s secretary’s office, where mail was sorted and passed on to Winston. He wasn’t lying—just omitting the fact that he was Santa.
Of course, this was only a backup plan. Angela would write the letter and hand it to the butler, who would pretend to be Santa and immediately deliver it to Winston. The child, unaware of this, stared at the envelope in thought for a while, then lifted her head and said,
“I wasn’t always a good child... I didn’t wait patiently, I just thought I couldn’t help it.”
Then, pausing briefly, Angela continued. Winston summoned his last remaining patience and waited. Finally, the child looked down and murmured,
“I even had bad thoughts... is that okay?”
“It’s okay.”
Winston answered firmly without hesitation.
“Santa knows everything.”
And added carefully, so as not to raise suspicion.
“If Santa thought you weren’t good enough to get presents, he wouldn’t come this year either. Since you already thought you wouldn’t get presents from Santa, you have nothing to lose. If things go well, you get a gift. If not, you just don’t.”
Of course, that wouldn’t happen. Whatever Angela wrote on the paper, she’d get it.
After a serious moment of thought, Angela finally nodded decisively.
“All right. I’ll write the letter here. Thank you.”
Winston once again felt overwhelming satisfaction at her polite gratitude. He admired how well Yujin had raised the child despite his hardships.
Yes, the child had lived through such hardship to truly understand poverty.
A sudden thought came, and satisfaction vanished, replaced by mixed emotions. Yujin’s record was only what he had learned before. The traces of his efforts to live with his daughter were clearly visible through the child.
The more Winston tried to get close to Angela, the more he learned another side of Yujin he had been ignoring. Seeing him pour such deep love into his child was something Winston had never imagined. Until now, Winston had thought Yujin was just a money-obsessed, lust-driven snob. But he could be this devoted to Angela. Is that what being a parent means?
Just then, Angela stood holding the letter and envelope. Winston casually looked at her, and the child spoke clearly.
“I’m going to write my letter now, so please leave, Mr. Campbell.”
Her polite tone must have come from some drama or book she’d seen. Winston smiled, picked up his jacket, and stood. He unconsciously reached out to touch her hair but stopped instantly as Angela stepped back. Thinking it wasn’t yet allowed, the child covered her head with empty hands and said,
“Don’t touch my hair. It’ll ruin my hairstyle.”
Such a reasonable reason. Winston barely stopped himself from bursting out laughing.
“All right, I’ll be careful from now on.”
Instead, he gently tapped her cheek with a finger and left the room with light steps. Left alone, Angela found a pencil and sat at the tea table, carefully beginning to write her letter. After nearly half a day, she finished and asked the butler to seal the envelope with glue.
“I’ll mail it with tomorrow’s post.”
The butler tried to take it, but Angela was no pushover.
“No! I’ll mail it myself. That way I can feel safe.”
The butler, caught off guard by her firm answer, reported directly to Winston.
“Do as she wishes.”
Winston readily agreed, and the next day Angela went with the butler to the nearest post office. After buying a stamp and mailing the letter herself at the counter, Angela returned to Delight with a relieved and proud look.
“Welcome back, Mr. Campbell.”
The butler greeted Winston politely, who came home earlier than usual, then quickly checked around before pulling the envelope from his pocket. As Winston had instructed, the butler had another employee retrieve the letter right after Angela mailed it.
“Good work.”
Winston smiled with satisfaction and put it in his jacket pocket. Curious about what was written, he couldn’t focus on work all day. After receiving the message that the mission was completed without issue, Winston prepared to leave work immediately. Impatient to see the letter, he climbed the stairs two or three steps at a time. Reaching the study in an instant, he ordered the butler to bring tea and opened the door.
Closing the door behind him, Winston strode across the spacious study with long strides to the desk, pulled out a chair, sat down, and took a deep breath.
Finally.
He felt like he had waited all day for this moment. Curious what the child had written in the letter, his hand trembled faintly as he pulled the envelope from his pocket. Then he took out a paper knife and carefully cut open the sealed envelope.
