I tried to explain that the child in the suit wasn't my son, but my protests were cut short. My two sisters-in-law flanked me, "supporting" me by the arms. Their smiles were plastered on, polite and strained, but their grip was iron. They dug their fingers into my flesh, dragging me back into the house and shoving me onto the living room sofa.
"Just rest for a bit, Sister-in-law. You're too worked up."
My chest heaved. I wasn't winded from exertion—I was suffocating from terror.
A chilling sense of déjà vu washed over me. These scenes overlapped perfectly with the nightmare of my previous life. The same obstruction. The same dismissive lines.
Forcing myself to breathe, I feigned resignation. Once their guard lowered, I retrieved my phone and typed a message under the cover of my sleeve.
Mom, where are you and Ethan right now?
Seconds later, a reply buzzed. I pressed the speaker to my ear, keeping the volume barely audible.
Ethan's voice, clear and bright, drifted through. "Mom, Grandma and I just got home! Grandma said she's making dumplings for me tonight. When are you coming back?"
Relief hit me so hard I nearly wept.
Thank God. The child inside the horse costume wasn't my son.