After the Golden Globes came the Spring Festival. Normally, it should've been a joyful time for the whole family. But in the Moran household, once the Spring Festival gave way to February, everyone entered a strangely tense state—tiptoeing around, speaking softly, even little William instinctively lowered the volume during playtime.
The reason was simple: Laila's due date was this month.
Everyone's nerves were stretched taut, and all eyes were constantly on her. Whether she simply sat down or stood up to grab something, it would send the entire household into a flurry of gasps and protests.
If this had only lasted a day or two, Laila might've brushed it off as a joke. But clearly, a day or two wasn't enough for these overprotective "daughter maniacs." She had endured more than two full weeks of their meticulous care.
Honestly, it wasn't just Laila—anyone would've found it overwhelming. It wasn't that their concern was misplaced; it was just too much. Even getting up to pour herself a glass of juice would cause her mother and the others to shriek and rush over to do it for her. How could Laila not have a headache?
Janet had been pregnant herself—had she forgotten what that was like?
Laila hadn't been silent about it. She'd gone to her grandfather, hoping he could speak some reason into them. But he brushed her off in just a few sentences, saying, "That's your mother, not a child. We can't control her anymore. If you've got a problem, talk to her yourself."
Laila was left speechless. What could she say? Are you seriously telling me your parents can't even manage this?
But she couldn't say that, because if she did, Grandpa would inevitably bring up how Janet once ran off with her "cheap" father. He'd say, "If she'd listened back then, would she have done something so disobedient?"
Right. There was no arguing with that.
What could she do?
Endure it.
There wasn't long left to endure, anyway. With teary eyes, Laila counted the days on her fingers.
And that counting led her right to the Oscars.
In Laila's version of The Dark Knight, the film had earned more nominations than the original. Christian Bale received his very first Oscar nomination for Best Actor. There was also a nomination for Best Director. That meant two more nominations than the original eight.
Laila was pleased with this outcome. It proved her control over filmmaking had exceeded even her expectations. Of course, she knew that nominations didn't guarantee wins. But the fact that, out of so many films, hers was among the top five contenders—that alone was enough to excite her.
Still, just like with the Golden Globes, she couldn't attend the Oscars in person. Roy walked the red carpet with Nolan's crew, and the broadcast faithfully captured his every step.
"Roy is so handsome. If little William grows up to be even half as good-looking, I'll be satisfied," Janet sighed while watching the livestream with her daughter. Roy's presence on the red carpet—and his striking looks that stood out even among the cast—prompted the comment.
"William's got your genes and Mr. Quentin's too. I'm sure he'll grow up to be very handsome," Laila replied with a smile, patting William's head as she noticed him drooping from the teasing.
Janet had no sympathy for his sulking. "It's because he has Quentin's genes that I worry he'll turn out weird. Just look at you! With my strong genes, how could my child turn out anything but beautiful?"
Laila couldn't help but laugh when she saw Mr. Quentin walking by with a face as black as thunder. Her parents' interactions were truly amusing. Her mother loved to contradict him and nitpick his words, and he seemed to enjoy being toyed with. No matter how often he was teased, he never took it to heart.
If one were to say their relationship was bad, well, their daughter, Laila had been ambushed with "public displays of affection" more times than she could count. But if you called them loving and sweet? They were always bickering—one provoking, one placating. She hadn't felt it much when they didn't live together, but ever since moving to New York and her mother "coincidentally" moving in under the excuse of taking care of her, the dog food had come at her in endless waves.
Janet noticed Laila laughing and turned her head—only to find Quentin looking at her darkly, his face thunder clouded. That made her, who had just been speaking so confidently, feel a little guilty.
Truth be told, Mr. Quentin was quite a good-looking man. Being British, he also had that English accent Laila had always liked. He was the type of man who paid great attention to appearance, always well-groomed even at home.
Men were different from women. People rarely judged a man solely by his face—more often it was his demeanor and presence. And Mr. Quentin had an excellent presence: composed, refined, and intelligent. If he wore the same stern expression as Grandpa Moran, his aura would be just as commanding—he had "elite" written all over him.
"Ahem, the awards ceremony's about to start," Janet quickly changed the subject, trying to mask her awkwardness. "How many awards will my little Laila take home this time? I'm so excited."
"Will Big Sis win Best Director again?" William looked up at his most admired sister with hopeful eyes.
Abel, who was playing with him, also turned to Laila with the same hopeful gaze.
Looking at their expectant faces, Laila wanted to give them a definite answer. But she knew all too well that the chances were slim.
"The Academy doesn't like commercial films," she said. "Do you think they'd give Best Director to a superhero movie?"
Janet didn't like that response one bit. "So what if it's a commercial film? Without commercial success, where would Hollywood even get the money to keep making movies? Without funding, the industry would probably still be stuck in black-and-white silent films."
Laila nodded—she hadn't expected her mom to understand the industry that well. "You're right. But the Oscar judges have their tastes. And this year, there are some excellent films in the mix. From the judges' perspective, those are much deeper than The Dark Knight."
"Deeper? Your Dark Knight is just as profound, if not more!" Janet clearly couldn't tolerate anyone—herself included—talking down to her daughter.
Laila smiled and didn't argue further. Hollywood was massive, and brilliant films emerged constantly. Just because she had foreknowledge didn't mean she could monopolize all the good ones. Besides, even if she did remake every classic from memory, there would still be new, original films being created.
Every studio had a backlog of shelved scripts. The reasons varied—some lacked a suitable director or actor, some had uncertain market prospects, and some required massive budgets or advanced technology. Whatever the case, plenty of great stories were still gathering dust.
If Laila did take all the best projects for herself, perhaps those shelved scripts might finally get their chance to shine.