The Son Erased From Reality

Over the next few days, I clearly sensed that Samantha and Edmund were watching me.

I quietly accepted every arrangement they made for me and acted as though I trusted their words without question. In the middle of the night, I would sometimes pretend to wake from nightmares, drenched in sweat, tearfully calling out for the imaginary son.

I played the part of a defeated man who could not accept his own loss of manhood.

It seemed to ease their vigilance.

That afternoon, Edmund took me for fresh air in the residential garden as usual. Across the street from the park, a street vendor happened to be calling out, selling hot pretzels.

"Oh, the pretzel vendor is here," Edmund said cheerfully. "Sam mentioned this morning that she was craving one. I was planning to pick some up at the market after work, but this is perfect timing. Norman, stay here and wait for me. You're not fully recovered yet, so don't wander off."

I gave a dull nod and stared after him as he walked off. With the house momentarily empty of supervision, I finally had a window to act.

My parents passed away long ago. The only brother I trusted lived in another city. Even my phone wasn't mine anymore. Samantha had taken it, insisting I needed to rest. I had no way to call anyone.

Just then, an elderly woman pedaling an old cargo tricycle appeared. I recognized her. She made a living collecting recyclables around the neighborhood.

"Haven't seen you for a while," she said. "Why didn't you bring Lionel out today?"

"Lionel…" I repeated the name under my breath, clenching my hands instinctively. "I was in a car accident and can't remember much. Could you tell me about him?"

Maya Faraday seemed to notice something and grew cautious. Just as she was about to speak, a figure rushed over like a gust of wind.

Edmund appeared suddenly, glaring at her. "Maya, what nonsense are you spouting again? I warned you before. Stay away from Norman. If you come here spreading lies again, I will call the police immediately."

Startled by his shout, Maya gave me a conflicted look before pedaling away as fast as she could.

"Norman, don't worry," Edmund said, patting my shoulder.

His voice was tense with both fear and disgust. "That woman has lost her mind. After her son died, her daughter-in-law fled with her grandson, Lionel. Ever since, she's been erratic, latching onto men and insisting they're her son. Don't trust her for a second."

Was that really the truth? Yet, the name "Lionel" stirred a strange sense of familiarity within me.

As I was about to fall asleep that night, Samantha embraced me from behind. Our skin touched, and that intense discomfort rose again without warning.

"I heard from Dad that Maya, the recycler, tried to talk to you today," she said.

I said nothing, and she went on as though my silence didn't matter. "When we used to come home from work together, we would often see Lionel's mother downstairs with him, and you always went to play with the boy.

"I even told you then that if you loved kids so much, we should have one of our own instead of always envying other people's."

A sudden dampness pressed against my back. Samantha's voice shook with restrained sobs. "Norman, are you still grieving over not being able to have children? I asked the doctor. He said you're experiencing post-traumatic stress.

"Your mind is fabricating false memories, which is why you keep believing you once had a child. Please don't bottle it all up. Hit me, yell at me—do whatever you need, just let it out. I can't lose you again."

Behind me, her muffled cries cut through the quiet.

Could my memories really be that unreliable? My mind spun in confusion as fragments of images flickered across my thoughts.

A woman of my age held a baby boy downstairs, though her face remained blurred in my vision.

I spoke to her briefly and played with the child for a moment.

Perhaps, just as Samantha had said, Lionel wasn't my child after all.