Chapter 3

In the photo, I was wearing a cream-colored dress, holding a seven or eight-month-old baby boy in my arms.

My mind went blank.

This photo was taken a week before my husband's death. Soon after, my son went to Canada with my parents.

But how did it end up in this child's hands?

The bald man also saw the photo.

The confusion in his eyes gradually faded, replaced by an icy glare, as if he was convinced I was deliberately trying to deflect blame.

Brenda's voice suddenly turned stern. "Ms. Miller, that's you in the photo, isn't it?"

Scornful, mocking gazes from everyone in the room converged on me.

I tried to explain, but my throat tightened, unable to utter a sound.

Because it was indeed me, undeniable.

"Since it's you, stop trying to shirk responsibility!"

Brenda took the photo, her tone laced with reprimand.

"A child’s misbehavior comes from bad parenting, but a parent avoiding responsibility is utterly despicable! A woman like you doesn't deserve to be a mother; you have no moral compass!

"To avoid a few thousand dollars in compensation, you'd disown your own child? You're heartless! People like you are a menace; you not only corrupt your child but ruin their entire life!"

I stared at her, stunned, unable to comprehend such hostility from a teacher.

I took a deep breath, forcing down the surging emotions. "I really am not his mother!"

"Why don't we call the police right now and let them investigate this identity theft..."

Before I could finish, the bald man cut me off. "Don't pretend anymore!"

A mocking smirk played on his lips. "Parents with such dishonest, irresponsible character are bound to raise a bullying monster!"

The teachers and parents in the office nodded in agreement.

"She looks so respectable, but who knew she'd be so irresponsible!"

"The child just made a small mistake; she should help him correct it. How could a parent disown her own son?"

"And she's a director at Radiant Group? Shifting blame over such a minor issue, doesn't she feel ashamed?"

They mocked me openly, completely ignoring what I had just said.

I trembled with rage, my peripheral vision catching Caleb.

He was hiding within the crowd, the fear he'd shown earlier replaced by a triumphant smirk.

He was smiling at me, his eyes full of provocation, as if watching a twisted play.

Rage instantly clouded my judgment.

I lunged forward, grabbing his arm with such force that he immediately grimaced in pain. "Ow! Let go of me!"

I clamped onto his arm, forcing him to meet my gaze. "I'm asking you, what's your name?"

"I'm Dennis Miller!"

"Where is your father?"

"I don't have a father!"

"Then what about your mother?"

"My mother is..."

He was about to continue when he suddenly looked up at me, a chilling, subtle smile playing on his lips.

Then, he pointed his small finger at me, his voice clear. "My mom is right here! You're my mom!"

I completely lost it. Ignoring the strange looks from everyone around me, I reached out and clamped my hand around his neck. "You're still lying!"

His face instantly turned purplish-blue. His hands flailed wildly, and his eyes shifted from defiance to deep terror.

My voice was icy, carrying a ruthlessness I'd never felt before. "I'm giving you one last chance!"

"Who is your real mother? How did you get this photo? Who told you to impersonate my son?"