For thirty years, I lived as Felix's widow. Felix Haywood was a renowned surgeon at Military General Hospital, a mentor to many students before his death. Everyone pitied me, saying I had lost a child to miscarriage, ruined my health, and lost my lover. I believed in these words... Until I sorted through his belongings and found a forged infant death certificate in his safe. His diary was filled with entries about how the Brooks family had once saved his entire family, how Irene Brooks could never have children because of him, and how he owed her he could only repay by stealing my son. I should have been a mother enjoying a happy family life, but I was trapped in my husband's lie for thirty years! My heart felt crushed, and I fainted. When I opened my eyes, the young, grief-stricken face of Felix appeared before me. "Grace, don't be sad. Our baby... is gone." I, Grace Archer, was sent back in time. Back to the day he stole my son. I looked at Felix. He held my hand, his eyes red and teary. "Grace, the doctors did everything they could." I remained silent. Then I heard a baby's cries and a woman's laughter coming from the next room. That woman was Irene Brooks. That baby was my son. My mother-in-law, Clara Reed, came in with a bowl of soup. "Grace, drink this. Your health is what matters most now." She set the bowl on the bedside table. "We owe you so much." I gave a bitter smile and said nothing. Tears slid down from the corners of my eyes. Felix reached over, wiping them away with his thumb. "Don't cry. We're still young. We'll have another child later." I closed my eyes. In my past life, I believed him. So I took mountains of medicine and endured countless treatments, all to conceive another child for him. Until his death, I never succeeded. Everyone said I was pitiful because I lost both my child and my husband. But no one knew my child had been alive all along. Right next door, less than ten meters away from me, he was there. Held by another woman, calling Irene Mom. The ward door was pushed open. Irene walked in with a swaddled baby in her arms, followed by her parents. "Felix, Clara." Her voice was soft. She looked at me, and her eyes were filled with sympathy. "Grace, are you all right? I heard..." The baby in her arms moved, letting out a slight sound. My gaze fell on the baby. He was my son. Clara immediately walked over and took the baby. "Little one, already awake?" Holding him, she wore a smile I had never seen before. Felix also stood up and approached Irene. "Why did you come? You also need to rest." "I just want to see Grace," Irene said while touching her abdomen, "I can never have another child. Seeing Grace like this… it breaks my heart." Tears fell as she spoke. Irene's father, a high-ranking officer, patted Felix's shoulder. "Felix, this child is now your responsibility." "I will take good care of him," Felix nodded. I watched them. They were all acting. And I was the fool kept in the dark.
On the day I was discharged from the hospital, Felix took me home. The house was very quiet. The prepared nursery was completely empty—no cradle, no crib, not even wall decals. Felix hugged me from behind. "I was afraid they'd make you sad, so I put everything away." My whole body stiffened. "Grace, forget this. Let's start over, okay?" I didn't answer him. Walking into that empty room, I stood there for a long time. Three days later, Clara brought the baby home from Irene's house. "Felix, Irene can't handle it alone, and the baby is often sick. Let's raise him here." Felix didn't object. The baby was placed in the guest room, far from our bedroom. Irene came over too, claiming she would help care for him. From then on, this house belonged to two women. One was me. The other was Irene. The baby was named Alistair Haywood, chosen by Irene. She said she hoped he would remember his late father and grow up safely. How absurd. They hoped my son would remember a father who never existed. Alistair often cried at night. The nanny couldn't soothe him. Neither could Clara. His cries reached my room. Lying in bed, I pulled the quilt over my head. Waves of heartache washed over me. Felix got up. "I'll go check on him." He was gone for a long time. When he returned, he carried the scent of milk. "Asleep?" I asked. "Yes. Irene is soothing him." I opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling. "Felix, I want to see him." "Why would you want to see him? Don't you know better?" Clara's voice suddenly came from the door. She hadn't knocked. "Mom?" Felix frowned. "I'm telling the truth! She just lost one, and now she wants to see Alistair? What's she up to?" Clara walked in and stood by my bed. "Grace, let me be clear. Alistair is Irene's child. He's not yours, so don't think you have any claim over him!" I looked at her. "I just want to see him." "No way!" Her voice turned shrill. "You'll bring misfortune to him! We can't afford another tragedy!" I said nothing more. That night, I didn't sleep at all. The next day, while they were all out, I slipped into the guest room. Alistair was sleeping in the cradle. I walked over and bent down. This was the first time I was so close to my son. He was tiny, and his face was still crumpled. I touched his cheek softly. He didn't wake up, just smacked his lips slightly. On the back of his neck, I saw a small red birthmark. Exactly like mine. Tears welled up instantly. I gently picked him up. He moved in my arms, finding a comfortable position to continue sleeping. Holding him, I sat on the carpet, motionless. I didn't know how much time passed before the door opened. Irene entered and saw the baby in my arms. Her expression changed. "Grace! What are you doing!" She rushed over and snatched the baby from me. "Don't touch him!" The baby was startled awake and burst into tears. "You made him cry!" Irene held him close, anxious and angry. Felix and Clara hurried in upon hearing the noise. Seeing the scene, Clara shoved me hard. "I knew you were up to no good! What did you want to do to my grandson?" She blurted out. After saying that, she froze. Felix's face darkened. "Mom!" "I... I misspoke!" She said hurriedly, "I meant... Alistair is the child of Felix's comrade, so he's like my grandson!" I stood up from the floor and then looked at Felix. "I wanted to hold him. Is that wrong?" "Grace, you're not well," Felix said, "Alistair is still young and gets sick easily." "Yes, Grace." Irene took a step back, holding the baby closer. "Alistair has a weak immune system. The doctor said we must be very careful." I looked at the three of them. They were like three walls, separating me from my son. "I am the rightful woman of this house," I said. Irene's face turned pale. Clara pointed a finger at me. "You? You are just a woman who can't keep a child!" "Mom!" Felix's voice turned sharp. He walked over and gripped my wrist. "Grace, go rest in our room." His grip was strong. I couldn't break free. Dragged back to the bedroom, I saw him close the door. Then I heard him say to his mother and Irene, "Don't let her go into that room again."
From that day on, I was never allowed to be near Alistair again. Irene and Clara kept a close watch on me. When there were guests at home, Irene would carry Alistair out, introducing him to everyone. "This is my son, Alistair Haywood." Everyone praised her for her kindness and greatness. Felix stood beside her, looking at her with an emotion I couldn't understand. It was guilt, and it was also compensation. I began to suffer from insomnia, lying awake night after night. My body wasted away rapidly. Felix took me to see a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist asked me a few questions, then told Felix, "It's postpartum depression, with mild delusions. She believes the baby is hers?" "Yes," Felix nodded. "Classic symptoms. She needs medication and psychological counseling." I looked at Felix. There was no trace of emotion on his face. He took the prescribed medication home and supervised me to take the pills every day. I hid the pills under my tongue, and then spat them out after he left. Because I knew I didn't have delusions. I was simply a mother wanting to reclaim her baby. Therefore, I began looking for an opportunity to get Alistair's hair for a paternity test. That was the only evidence. An opportunity came a month later. At Alistair's hundred-day celebration, the house was full of guests. Everyone surrounded Irene, Alistair, and Felix. They looked like a happy family. I moved silently through the crowd. When Irene went to change clothes, I picked up Alistair. He had grown a bit, and his features looked like mine. In my arms, he was calm, not crying or fussing. I carried him to a corner and carefully plucked a hair from his head. Then I wrapped the hair in a tissue and put it in my pocket. After doing it, I felt all my strength drained away. As I put Alistair back in the cradle and turned to leave, I met Felix's eyes. He had stood behind me without my noticing. His gaze was icy. "What were you doing?" "I..." Without waiting for my explanation, he reached into my pocket. He took out the tissue and then unfolded it. When he saw the hair, his face darkened instantly. With no words, he dragged me upstairs to the study. After shoving me inside, he locked the door. "Grace, what do you want to do?" "I want to do a paternity test," I said, staring at him, "He is my son." "You're insane!" He growled, "Have you forgotten what the doctor said? You have delusions!" "I am not insane!" I shouted back, "Felix, look me in my eyes! Do you dare say he is not my son?" He avoided my gaze. "Stop being unreasonable." "Being unreasonable?" I laughed, and tears streamed down my face. "You stole my son, and now you say I'm insane! Felix, how could you do this to me?" He fell silent. After a long silence, he spoke with a hoarse voice. "Grace, the Brooks family did me a great favor." "What favor?" "Saving my life," he said, "Years ago, if it weren't for Mr. Brooks, my whole family would have been ruined. Irene can't have children because of me. I owe her." "So you repaid her with my son?" He didn't say a word—his silence said it all. Looking at him, I felt a deep chill. "I will apply for a paternity test tomorrow." "You dare!" He stepped forward and snatched the tissue from my hand. Right before my eyes, he tore the hair and the tissue into pieces. The pieces fell through his fingers. Like my shattered heart. "Grace," he stared at me, enunciating each word, "Behave yourself. My patience is limited." I looked at him, the man I had loved for ten years. For him, I had given up my studies and become a dutiful wife. In that moment, I finally understood. He didn't love me. He only needed an obedient wife. A tool for his mission of repayment. At that moment, the last bit of hope I had for him vanished.
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