16
“Don’t call me mommy,” I said, looking up at him. “Put those things down and get out of
here.”
Tommy didn’t move, stubbornly holding onto the blocks.
His expectations dashed, his eyes welled up with tears, and he suddenly burst into loud
sobs.
Between sobs, he choked out, “No, I want to call you mommy. You gave birth to me, so you’re my mommy.”
I was already annoyed by the sound of the blocks, and his crying made me even more irritated.
“Shut up!” I scolded him, then turned to face the camera and said,
“Jack, if this kid isn’t out of my sight in ten seconds, I’m going to bash my head in and die right here.”
As soon as I said this, Tommy fell silent. Five seconds later, the door was pushed open.
Tommy was picked up by a bodyguard in a black suit. He struggled with all his might.
“I don’t want to go! I want mommy! Wah… Mommy, don’t send me away. I won’t bother you anymore. I won’t cry anymore…”
His pleas and protests had no effect, and he was carried out of the room.
I had thought my cold attitude would make Tommy give up, but I seemed to have underestimated a child’s persistence.
Tommy still came to keep me company every day.
He would try to get closer to me, sharing things he thought were happy.
Most of the time, I ignored him.
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“Mommy, Dad went to reinvestigate that kidnapping,” Tommy said, standing straight, lowering his head and nervously picking at his nails.
“I’m sorry, Mommy. Dad and I misunderstood you. Dad wants to apologize too, but he’s afraid to come see you.”
He finally gave me some useful information.
A ripple stirred in my previously dead–like eyes, and I asked thoughtfully,
“Who did Jack find out was behind it all?”
“Huh?” Tommy seemed surprised that I would respond to him, looking quite pleased.
“I heard Dad say it was some uncle who needed money.”
