Chapter 2What the Cradle Hid

I spent the entire day holding my son, never letting him out of my sight. Feeding him, changing his diapers, burping him—I did it all.

When Whitney woke up and saw me sitting on the couch with our baby in my arms, her eyes turned red.

"Theodore, you haven't slept in three days."

"I'm not tired," I said.

She reached out and touched my face. Her fingers were cold. "You look awful. I'm worried you are going to wear yourself out."

"I can handle it." I wrapped my hand around hers, my voice a little hoarse. "As long as you and the baby are here, I can handle anything."

Whitney did not try to argue with me again. She knew me too well. Once I made up my mind, there was no changing it.

That night, I pushed the crib right beside my bed and locked the hospital room door.

The camera was running, and my phone was connected to my fitness band. Any movement or sound would make the band vibrate and wake me up.

At 2:00 am, I finally started losing the battle with sleep. My eyelids grew heavy, and I could barely keep them open.

I did not know how much time had passed before Whitney's scream jolted me awake.

"Theodore!"

I shot upright.

The crib was empty.

Whitney stood beside the bed, her face deathly pale and her lips trembling. She threw off the covers and tried to get out of bed, but her legs gave way before her feet even touched the floor.

I caught her, my fingers shaking. "Don't panic. Lie down first."

It had happened exactly like this in my previous life—the same empty crib, the same crushing despair.

Whitney jumped from the balcony. I died in a roadside drainage ditch.

I stood there, my legs so weak they could barely hold me up.

Whitney sank to the floor and began to sob, her voice muffled against her arms. "I didn't watch him closely enough… It's my fault..."

I crouched down and took her hand. "Look at me."

She kept her head down.

"Whitney, look at me."

She suddenly raised her head, her face streaked with tears.

"Call the police."

"Okay."

I pulled out my phone. First, I called the hospital administration and had them lock down the building. Then, I called the police.

Whitney sat on the bed with her knees pulled to her chest, her face buried in her arms.

The hospital room door was still open, and more and more people began gathering in the hallway. Nurses, doctors, and family members from other rooms. Someone poked their head inside. The moment they saw the empty crib, they sucked in a sharp breath.

"The baby is really gone?"

"Poor baby. He's only been alive for a few days."

"What kind of parents let this happen?"

"What good is being rich if you cannot even keep track of your own kid?"

Whitney's shoulders began to shake. She had heard them.

I stood up, walked to the doorway, and pulled the door halfway shut.

Someone was still craning their neck to look inside. A middle-aged woman stood in the hallway with her arms folded, muttering, "How do you lose a baby that big? Are you sure he's even your kid?"

Another person chimed in, "Looking all respectable, are you? What good is that if you can't even keep your own child safe? Useless."

I glanced back at Whitney. She had pulled her knees closer to her chest, burying her face even deeper in her arms. Her shoulders shook with every sob.

It had been the same in my previous life. After our son disappeared, people everywhere had said things like that.

"Can't even keep an eye on your own kid."

"What kind of parents are they?"

"Serves them right."

I pushed the door open and walked into the hallway. The corridor fell silent for a moment.

The middle-aged woman was still talking. "Oh, look who's coming out. What are you planning to do..."

I looked at her. "What did you just say?"

She took a step backward. "What did I say? I was just..."

"Say it again."

She clamped her mouth shut.

A man standing nearby jumped in. "She was just showing concern. What's with that attitude..."

I turned to him. "My son is missing. What exactly are you concerned about?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, unable to find a single word.