He was standing on his toes, clumsily struggling with the shower that was too high for him.
He didn’t even know how to turn on the hot water.
I sighed and went in to adjust the temperature for him.
As the warm water ran over his thin body, I finally saw it clearly. His arms and back were covered in bruises of all shades.
The bruises looked like they’d been pinched, or maybe hit by something.
New injuries lay on top of old ones.
My hand froze and my chest felt as if a huge stone was pressing down.
“Who did this?”
Arson flinched and hurriedly used his hands to cover the marks, keeping his head down and saying nothing.
“Speak!” My voice grew harsh despite myself.
He shivered at my tone, tears welling in his eyes, but stubbornly refused to let them fall.
“It’s… it’s because I wasn’t good… I made Grandma angry…”
Again… Linda!
That woman always looked elegant and proper in front of me. But behind the scenes, she could do such harm to a child?
Even if Arson wasn’t her biological grandson, he was still Harry’s son.
Even a tiger wouldn’t eat its own cub—how dare she!
I pushed down the anger in my heart, finished giving him a bath and found one of my old T-shirts for him to wear.
The oversized shirt hung over his tiny body, making him look even thinner and more pitiful.
“From now on, don’t ever say you’re bad again.”
I pulled him onto the sofa, took out the first-aid kit and carefully applied ointment to his bruises with a cotton swab.
His body was stiff, completely still as I worked.
“If it hurts, tell me.”
“It doesn’t hurt…” he whispered. “Mom says if she blows on it, it won’t hurt.”
At the mention of Emily, my hand froze.
“She… was good to you?” I asked.
“Mom was the best to me,” Arson’s eyes lit up briefly, then dimmed again. “But Mom was never happy. She would hug me and cry.”
“She also said… I should grow up fast, run fast and not get caught.”
Run?
Caught by who?
My mind was a tangled mess.
Emily’s death, Linda’s abuse, the unknown “smart pills,” and now this warning—“don’t get caught”…
All the clues pointed to a terrifying truth.
Just then, my phone rang.
It was a number I hadn’t contacted in ten years.
Harry.
I went to the balcony and pressed the answer button.
“Millie,” came the tired, hoarse voice on the other end. “Something happened to Emily.”
“I know,” I said coldly. “I saw the news about her.”
“Her son… Arson… is missing. Did she… ever contact you?”