Chapter 5

"Things are what they are. Annie, can't you put in a good word for me with George?"

I didn't get up. I simply picked up the blacked-out calendar from the table and threw it at his feet.

"It's your son who doesn't want to celebrate anymore."

Mason looked down at the black scribbles, his brow twitching.

"Next month... next month when the company isn't busy, I'll cancel everything and personally take him to the amusement park."

His gaze avoided mine, fixed on the tightly closed bedroom door, his voice unconsciously dropping. "I owe him this time."

Just then, George's voice came through the crack of the closed bedroom door.

"Uncle Mason, I don't want to go."

"Uncle Mason?"

He repeated those two words quietly, his voice suddenly soft. The living room was so quiet you could hear the clock ticking on the wall.

Then he slowly lifted his eyes to look at me, fury churning in their depths.

"Annie, who taught him to say that?"

He strode toward the bedroom and grabbed the doorknob, about to barge in.

"Stop!"

I lunged over to block him, pressing myself firmly against the door.

Through the door, I suddenly heard George's heavy, rapid breathing.

I pushed the door open and rushed in, reaching for George's forehead—his skin was abnormally hot. I grabbed the thermometer—103.6 degrees!

"George has a high fever!"

I turned frantically toward Mason. "Quick, get the fever medicine!"

Mason paused, about to get it when his phone suddenly rang, Mia's name flashing on the screen.

He answered. Immediately, Mia's crying came through.

"Mason! Come quick! Daisy got so upset from not doing well at today's interview that she's burning up, and she's locked herself in her room with scissors and won't let anyone in!"

Mia sobbed breathlessly. "I don't dare upset her. She's allergic to regular fever medicine! I remember you said the imported fever reducer George takes works really well. Please bring a box and save her! If we wait, she could die!"

Mason's face changed. He listened to the crying on the phone, then glanced at me with my back to him.

"Mason, the medicine is at the bottom of the medicine cabinet. Hurry!"

My voice trembled with urgency.

Mason pushed past my hand and strode to the bedside, pressing the back of his hand to George's forehead and frowning.

He looked at the child's flushed face, then turned toward the medicine cabinet.

"Annie, listen to me—George just has a regular fever. Some fever medicine and a night's sleep and he'll be fine. Over there, Daisy has scissors in her hand—someone could actually die. I'll handle it and come right back. You watch him."

He strode to the medicine cabinet and pulled open the drawer. What he did next made my blood run cold—he actually took out the only remaining box of George's usual fever medicine and stuffed it into his pocket.

"What are you doing?!"

I rushed over to grab it. "That's George's medicine!"

"Daisy's allergic to regular fever reducers, and she's holding scissors. Annie, let me finish."

His voice was low and rushed. "I'll take this box. You go downstairs to the pharmacy right now and buy regular medicine for George. He's strong, he can handle it."

He turned sideways to avoid my reaching hand and hurried toward the door.

"Annie, the pharmacy downstairs is a ten-minute walk. Go buy some now. I'll come right back after I handle this."

I lunged forward and grabbed his arm, refusing to let go.

He yanked hard. I stumbled and crashed into the hard edge of the table.

Bang—I fell to the floor, my elbow scraped open, blood welling up.

Mason turned back. His steps paused for two seconds. His lips moved.

"Take care of that wound first."

"Half an hour. I'll be back in half an hour."

With that, he turned and walked out, slamming the door shut.

The moment the door closed, my phone showed a message—Mason had sent a pharmacy location with a note: This one's open 24 hours, close to home.

From the bedroom came a sudden gasp. Then George's eyes rolled back, his body convulsing, guttural sounds coming from his throat.

Febrile seizure!

"George—!"

I screamed, crawled over and scooped up my convulsing son, and ran out into the rainy night.

Rain poured down. Lightning lit up the darkness.

Harsh white light hit my face. I was soaked through.

George's vomit mixed with the blood flowing from my elbow, soaking through my clothes.

"Family member! The patient has acute febrile seizure leading to respiratory failure. Critical condition. Sign the critical illness notice immediately!"

A doctor rushed out with a form, speaking rapidly. "We need both parents' signatures. Where's the father?!"

I took the pen with trembling hands. Rainwater mixed with blood blurred the paper.

"He's dead."

I said through gritted teeth, word by word, and signed only my name on the form.

During the long wait outside the emergency room, I used the nurses' station landline to call Mason thirty times.

The first three were instantly rejected. From the fourth on, I heard the automated message: The number you have dialed is powered off.

At four in the morning, the emergency room door finally opened.

"We brought him back, but he needs to stay in ICU for observation."

The doctor said wearily.

Through the glass, I watched George's small body covered in tubes.

He weakly opened his eyes and lifted the hand with the IV catheter, laboriously tapping the screen of his children's watch in small movements.

When the screen lit up, he found the number labeled Superman Dad and pressed delete.

I knew clearly that George no longer needed the role of father.

In the morning, George's condition stabilized and he was moved to a regular ward.

I sat by the hospital bed, took out my phone, and called my lawyer, then contacted the overseas agency.

"Yes, liquidate all funds and stocks under my name. Give full authority to sell the two properties at bottom price. Transfer the proceeds directly to my overseas account."

After handling this, I pulled out the inner compartment of my bag.

The European visa I'd gotten to celebrate George's sixth birthday would come in handy after all.

I booked tickets to Venice for this weekend, looked at the sky outside the window, and let out a deep breath.

The next evening, I brought George home for one last visit.

The house was still in the same disarray as the night Mason left.

I didn't touch anything that belonged to him. I packed my clothes into a suitcase, then added George's documents.

Before leaving, I walked to the table.

I placed the signed divorce agreement neatly in the center.

Next to the agreement, I set down the candy wrapper left from the Children's Day magic show.

"Mom, where are we going?"

George held my hand and looked up to ask.

"Mom's going to perform a big magic trick with you."