I turned off the TV and coaxed my son to sleep.
Tomorrow was the day of his check-up. It was also his birthday.
After leaving the hospital, I took him to the mall to pick out a gift.
A commotion erupted not far away.
Samuel Shaw, dressed in a tailored suit, was surrounded by people.
After six years, he had shed the youthful naivety of his student days.
Now, he was handsome, composed, and exuded an intimidating presence.
I froze, suddenly remembering that this mall belonged to him.
My son’s eyes landed on a Superman figure priced at twenty dollars.
He quickly put it back.
“Mom, I don’t really like it. Let’s just go home.”
I looked at my sensible little boy, a pang of sadness gripped my heart.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like toys. He just thought it was too expensive.
I reached out to ruffle his hair, about to say, “Let’s buy it,” when his eyes suddenly lit up.
“Daddy! It’s Daddy!”
I hadn’t expected that just a casual mention last night would leave such a deep impression on him.
Samuel’s gaze immediately swept in our direction.
The moment he saw me, his eyes widened sharply.
Before I could react, my son dashed toward him, wrapping his small arms around Samuel’s leg.
Samuel looked down with cold, sharp eyes, his brows furrowing tightly.
But when he noticed how much my son’s features resembled mine, his expression shifted.
For a moment, there was a flicker of something else—something almost wistful.
That rare trace of softness was abruptly interrupted by a delicate, honeyed voice.
“Sam…”
