“Dad, don’t worry. I’ll be okay after a nap. Just don’t tell Mom, okay?”
I swallowed the bitterness clawing at my chest and gave a silent nod. After leaving the hospital, I tried calling Amara Lancaster, hoping, just hoping, she’d come to see our son.
But I never expected that she’d be unreachable because she’d been busy celebrating someone else’s child.
And the father-in-law we once believed was gravely ill, even declared dead, was now calling another man standing beside her “son-in-law.”
A coldness crept through me, sinking deep into my bones. I stepped aside, pulled out my phone again and dialed Amara’s number.
Still no answer.
Right then, the hotel manager marched over, his tone sharp and impatient. He snatched the delivery box from my hands and snapped.
“What took you so long? Keep this up and I’ll leave you a bad review!”
I quickly bowed and mumbled an apology. One bad review and a whole day’s effort would be for nothing.
Maybe it was my unshaven face or the exhaustion weighing down every step, but I must’ve looked truly pitiful at that moment.