Chapter 2

The moment my fingerprint went through, everything before my eyes suddenly went pitch black, and I lost consciousness completely.

When the light came back, I found myself clutching my phone tightly, with the familiar mobile banking screen lit up again, and the screen showed the words, "Please enter transfer amount."

I froze.

My finger hovered motionless above the keypad, and I did not move for a long time.

The scene from just now kept flashing through my mind over and over again—

The hospital ceiling, my son's skinny little hand, Megan's hysterical cries, and the bone-chilling lake water.

My chest tightened, and I stared blankly at my phone as I entered the amount and successfully completed the transfer.

Only after I saw the words "Transfer successful" did I let out a deep breath and call Megan.

Megan and I had been married for six years, and our son Oliver was five.

I was working out of town, and all these years I had always felt guilty toward them.

So on the 15th of every month, I would transfer the money on time.

"Megan, my paycheck is transferred over. Check whether you got it."

A faint tapping sound came from the other end of the phone, and only after a few seconds did Megan answer, "Yeah, I got it."

Her voice sounded a little distant, as if she was deliberately holding something back.

"That's good."

I let out a sigh of relief, but then I thought of what had happened in my previous life, and I could not help asking, "Every month, did you receive the full amount? $12,000?"

I asked the last line very carefully.

But Megan suddenly got angry. "What do you mean? If I didn't get it, are you saying you could still send it to someone else?"

"No, that's not what I mean, I..."

"If that's not what you mean, then what do you mean?"

Her tone on the other end of the line was sharp and aggressive.

I forced myself to calm down and changed the subject. "How's Oliver lately? Is he getting used to kindergarten?"

"That's none of your business." She tossed out a cold line. "I've got things to do. I'm hanging up."

The call ended.

I put down my phone, but my uneasiness only grew.

In my previous life, until my son had that accident, I had always thought all $12,000 each month had gone to Megan.

But at the hospital, Megan said I had only sent $2,000, and Oliver's malnutrition clearly had not happened overnight.

I opened my mobile banking app and exported six years of transfer records.

For these six years, every 15th of the month, $12,000 had been sent without fail.

But if the money had arrived, then in my previous life, how could my son have fainted from hunger?

Just then, my phone rang.

It was my son's kindergarten teacher.

"Mr. Blake, please hurry to City Children's Hospital! Oliver just fainted at kindergarten, and the doctor says he went into hypoglycemic shock caused by severe malnutrition!"

My mind went blank at once.

"Miss Carter, how is Oliver right now?"

"He's still being resuscitated! Mr. Blake, I hate to say this, but how exactly do you and your wife take care of your child?"

The teacher's voice carried restrained anger.

"Oliver is only five years old, but he weighs less than 33 pounds. He's more than 10 pounds lighter than other kids his age! He usually gobbles down his food at kindergarten, and we thought he just had a big appetite. We never expected it was because he was..."

She did not finish, but I knew what she wanted to say.

She wanted to say Oliver had fainted from hunger, that I, as his father, was completely unfit.

But clearly, I transferred $12,000 every month...

Thinking of that, I said bitterly, "No, I clearly..."

"Mr. Blake!" the teacher interrupted me. "Do you know what was in Oliver's pocket today? Half a stale bagel! The child said he secretly brought it from home and took bites of it whenever he was hungry!"

Listening to the teacher, a wave of coldness swept through my whole body.

"I'm coming right now."

After hanging up, I slammed the gas pedal all the way down.

On the way, I desperately recalled every detail from the past six years.

$12,000 every month, plus Megan's $4,000 salary as an office clerk, meant our household income was $16,000 a month.

In this city, even with a $3,000 mortgage, there was no way my son should have been reduced to hiding bagels to eat.

Unless...

No, the transfer records were crystal clear. Unless Megan was lying.

But why? He was her own son too.