Chapter 3

James had been gone the entire night, and when he finally returned in the early morning, I was still groggy from sleep. His clothes carried the distinct, sterile scent of hospital disinfectant, and his mood seemed unusually buoyant.

"How's David doing? Is his condition improving?" I asked, my voice filled with feigned concern as I approached him.

James arched an eyebrow.

"He's much better. Another month or so, and he should be fully recovered," he replied. His eyes shifted almost instinctively toward my son. "Make sure you're taking good care of Nicholas, too. It's easy for kids to catch colds this time of year."

I let out a derisive snort, choosing not to respond. At this point, of course, he wanted my son to stay perfectly healthy. After all, only if my son thrived could their precious David continue to live.

James exhaled tiredly as he shrugged off his coat. "I need to get some sleep. I've got to head to the office later." He started toward the bedroom, but before his hand could even touch the doorknob, his phone rang.

"James, come to the hospital quickly! Something's wrong with David!"

The tension in James's body was immediate and unmistakable. Standing beside him, I heard every word clearly.

"Got it. I'm on my way," he said hastily, pulling his coat back on.

"Was that Jess?" I asked, watching his hurried movements. "Did something happen to David?"

"Yes," he replied dismissively while fumbling with his buttons. "No time to explain now. I need to get to the hospital."

"I'm coming with you."

His body froze momentarily, but he quickly recovered, gesturing toward our son. "Who's going to look after Nicholas if you leave?"

Before I could respond, the bedroom door creaked open.

"I'll take care of Nicholas," a familiar voice chimed in.

"Wendy?" James's expression darkened as he turned to me, lowering his voice. "When did she get here?"

I smiled thinly. "Wendy loves Nicholas, so I asked her to help me take care of him for a few days."

Under the circumstances, James had no choice but to take me along.

At the hospital, Jess rushed forward and threw herself into James's arms.

"James, I'm so scared!" she whimpered.

The moment her eyes landed on me, however, her demeanor shifted. Clinging tightly to my husband, she shot me a triumphant, mocking glance.

"You're here too, Carrie?"

Ignoring her theatrics, I walked straight to the hospital bed. "You mentioned on the phone that something happened to David. What's wrong with him?"

Jess's tear-streaked face softened into a look of maternal anguish as she cradled her child. "I was feeding him earlier, but I accidentally dropped the bowl. The glass shattered, and a shard cut his face."

Her fingers gently grazed the bandaged wound on the boy's cheek. "But what scared me the most was that he didn't cry. I asked him if it hurt, and he just shook his head."

Her words only confirmed my suspicions. One of the symptoms of XYY syndrome was that his sensitivity to pain was much weaker than that of an ordinary person. Clearly, the bottle she'd gifted me had already begun to work its sinister magic.

"Are you sure he said it didn't hurt?" James asked, his face etched with genuine worry.

Jess nodded fervently. "He's fine now, but I just found it so strange."

She looped her arm through James's. "James, I'm just so afraid. What if something happens to David?"

I smiled, keeping my tone light. "But look at him now, sleeping so peacefully. There's nothing to worry about."

Jess's eyes flashed with anger at my calm demeanor. "Easy for you to say! He's not your child!"

Her retort was sharp, but I didn't rise to the bait. Instead, I reached out and gently smoothed the boy's hair. "We're all family, aren't we? I care about every child in this family. Besides, David looks so much like James—how could I not adore him?"

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of my words settling heavily. After what felt like an eternity, James finally broke the tension with a stammer.

"Well, I am his uncle, after all. It's not strange for him to resemble me."

I nodded thoughtfully. "True. It just makes me wonder—who is his real father? Jess, you've never mentioned it before."

Jess's face went pale, her composure crumbling as she struggled to find a response. Sensing the situation spiraling out of control, James grabbed my arm and hastily led me out of the room.

On the drive home, his jaw remained tightly clenched. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Don't ask about Jess's private life again," he said.

"Why not?" I asked, feigning innocence.

After a long pause, he muttered, "It's her business. We shouldn't pry."

I didn't respond, but inwardly, I couldn't help but feel the bitter irony.

As we pulled into the neighborhood, my eyes caught sight of Derrick playing outside. Armed with a slingshot, he darted between bushes, gleefully hurling stones at unsuspecting passersby.

From a distance, I watched him for a long time, my anticipation quietly growing.