I took the phone from her and dialed 911.
“Tyrell, it’s not that I don’t want to help you. But the adoption’s already been processed. If I take you back now, that’s illegal. You don’t want me getting falsely accused of kidnapping, right?
“The cops will investigate. If your adoptive parents really did something wrong, the adoption won’t hold. You’ll be back in the orphanage, safe. Trust me.”
He looked at me with pure hatred, but I didn’t flinch.
I reported everything to the cops.
The neighbors, seeing the issue was handled, went back to their homes.
Cecily didn’t have memories of our past life, so I didn’t want her getting soft on Tyrell.
I decided to take him to the station myself.
Before I left, I saw my son hiding in the room, scared.
I told Cecily to stay and comfort him.
Then I took Tyrell into the elevator.
On the way, he kept up the act—crying, begging me to adopt him, as if the whole world but our family was out to get him.
But I stayed quiet, just politely brushing him off.
By the time we finished the report, it was already six in the morning.
Tyrell stayed at the police department, waiting for his adoptive parents to pick him up.
I finally made it back home.
Relief hit me like a truck—I was sweating cold.
I knew, without a doubt, that this kid had his eyes on us.
‘We can’t stay here anymore…’
I spent the entire day selling the house and prepping to move.
But even that was too late.
At six in the afternoon, I got a call from my son’s homeroom teacher.
“Mr. Lyttleton, why wasn’t Alfie at school today? Is he sick? You didn’t call to excuse him.”
