Chapter 2Fake Memory, Real Insanity

I pulled out my phone to call them, but the line was dead. They really wanted nothing to do with me.

Whatever. They gave me a ridiculous amount of money. I could raise a kid just fine on my own.

I planted roots in a new city. My belly grew rounder, and when the day came, I called my own ambulance.

I raised a beautifully healthy little boy. But Oliver looked way too much like his father.

The shape of his eyes, the slope of his nose, even the arrogant little way he pressed his lips together. He was a carbon copy of Sebastian.

His personality was a match, too. When he fell, he didn't cry. He just dusted off his knees with this serious, old soul expression that mirrored his dad perfectly.

Soon, it was open house day at kindergarten.

Every other kid had a mom and a dad squished into the tiny chairs. My side had an empty seat.

A little boy ran over to him. "Oliver, why didn't your daddy come?"

I opened my mouth, but my slow brain short circuited. I had no idea what to say.

Oliver just looked up, his face deadpan. "My mom being here is enough. I can take care of her all by myself. We don't need him."

The surrounding parents chuckled. "What a sweet, mature kid."

But one dad squinted, staring at Oliver. "Huh."

"Why does this kid look so incredibly familiar?" He tilted his head, thinking hard, then slapped his thigh.

"I got it. He looks exactly like my CEO. A literal mini version of the boss."

"But my boss and his wife are basically relationship goals. He didn't want to put her through the pain of childbirth, so they adopted an orphan."

I froze. My sluggish brain was trying to decipher what he just said.

The parents exchanged loaded glances, their eyes raking over me with sudden judgment.

The little boy laughed, pointing a sticky finger at Oliver. "That means you are a bastard!"

"Your mommy is dirty. She is just a secret mistress for some rich guy. That is why your dad isn't here. You are a secret baby!"

An adult weakly pulled the boy back, but a nasty, knowing smirk played on his lips.

Oliver's tiny shoulders shook. He balled up his fists and launched himself at the kid. "Do not talk about my mom!"

By the time I snapped out of my daze, Oliver was already wrestling the boy to the carpet.

The obnoxious dad grabbed Oliver by the collar, lifting him into the air. His kid took the chance to scratch Oliver, leaving a bloody red line down his cheek.

The man saw I was a single mother and figured I was an easy target. He sneered, holding my son up like a ragdoll. "Since this brat does not have a father to teach him manners, I will gladly step in and do the job."

He raised his large hand, bringing it down hard on Oliver.

Oliver's eyes filled with tears, but he bit his lip so hard it almost bled, refusing to let a single drop fall.

A loud ringing exploded in my ears. I went feral, snatching my boy out of his grip, burying him against my chest, and walking out without looking back.

But by midnight, Oliver spiked a terrifying fever. His little face burned red, his breath coming out in hot, shallow pants.

I carried him on my back, sprinting all the way to the emergency room. The hallways were packed.

After getting our number, I curled up on a hard plastic chair, holding his burning body. Waves of pure helplessness kept crashing over me.

A fragile, whimpering whisper came from my arms.

"Daddy... Daddy..."

I fell silent, tightening my arms and pressing my cheek against his sweaty hair. "Your dad forgot about us. He is busy playing daddy for someone else."

The intercom finally called our number. I jumped up, rushing toward the clinic door.

Just as I reached the handle, a woman shoved her way past me, blocking the entrance. "My son scraped his hand. We are going first."

Our eyes met. We both completely froze.

It was Monica.