Jimmy, suspended in mid-air, was frantic, trying to rush over to protect Ashley, but he repeatedly passed through our bodies, only able to roar at me, "Chrystal, stop! You can't do this to Ashley."
Halfway through his roar, he suddenly stopped, his soul frozen in mid-air, then a faint, fortunate smile appeared on his face.
"I almost forgot, Marci is still with you. That's my and Ashley's child. Everything in the Watts Family will belong to Marci in the future."
I stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to react for a long time.
The child Jimmy and I adopted from the orphanage, the child I doted on for five years, the child I treated like my own—was actually Jimmy and Ashley's biological son?
Countless images uncontrollably flooded my mind.
When tutoring Marci, he cried over math problems. I patiently explained them five times, but he tore up his workbook, yelling, "I don't understand what you are saying!"
When Jimmy got home, he listened to the formula once, understood it, snuggled into his arms and then looked at me, making a face, “Daddy’s a hundred times smarter than you!”
When I told Marci bedtime stories, he always woke up startled, saying, "Mommy, your voice is awful."