To Please Her Secret Lover, She Let Our Son Suffer

My wife had spent every cent of our savings and even plunged us into debt, all to treat her father’s illness.

By day, I juggled three jobs. By night, I took my son along to collect junk, doing whatever it took just to scrape by.

Then, one evening, while delivering food to a luxury hotel, I caught sight of something that made my blood run cold. There she was, my wife, alongside her supposedly deceased father, smiling as they sang a birthday song to her first love’s son.

Envious chatter from the hotel staff drifted to my ears.

“President Lancaster really dotes on the young master. She booked the entire venue for his birthday; it must’ve cost hundreds of thousands!”

“Hundreds of thousands? That’s nothing! I heard she’s handing out gifts too, ten grand each!”

I stood frozen, staring blankly at the joyful scene unfolding in front of me, a picture-perfect family drenched in luxury.

No one there knew that her real son was lying in a hospital bed, burning up with fever.

He’d gone out in the rain to gather recyclables just to help ease his mom’s burden.

——

Even in that state, my son looked up at me, eyes dim but voice soft.

“Dad, don’t worry. I’ll be okay after a nap. Just don’t tell Mom, okay?”

I swallowed the bitterness clawing at my chest and gave a silent nod. After leaving the hospital, I tried calling Amara Lancaster, hoping, just hoping, she’d come to see our son.

But I never expected that she’d be unreachable because she’d been busy celebrating someone else’s child.

And the father-in-law we once believed was gravely ill, even declared dead, was now calling another man standing beside her “son-in-law.”

A coldness crept through me, sinking deep into my bones. I stepped aside, pulled out my phone again and dialed Amara’s number.

Still no answer.

Right then, the hotel manager marched over, his tone sharp and impatient. He snatched the delivery box from my hands and snapped.

“What took you so long? Keep this up and I’ll leave you a bad review!”

I quickly bowed and mumbled an apology. One bad review and a whole day’s effort would be for nothing.

Maybe it was my unshaven face or the exhaustion weighing down every step, but I must’ve looked truly pitiful at that moment.

The manager let out a cold snort and muttered, as if tossing me a favor I didn’t ask for. “Forget it; you’ve had it rough. Miss Lancaster’s handing out gifts soon. Say a few birthday blessings and you’ll get one!”

“That sure beats running around like a dog delivering food all month!”

Bitterness surged in my chest. Really? That’s great, I thought.

At least now, I’d have enough to pay my son’s hospital bill.

A moment later, the manager came back with the delivery box. Amara leaned in and whispered something into his ear.

“Come on, get in line! Wish the young master a happy birthday and grab your gift envelope!” he called out.

With that shout, the hotel staff swarmed forward, excitement flashing across their faces.

I tugged my mask higher and pulled down the brim of my helmet, quietly blending into the line.

Amara stood beside the boy, helping him open the gift I had delivered.

Inside was a robotic dog. The room fell silent for a moment, then someone whispered, stunned.

“Gosh, isn’t that the new AI learning dog? Released just two weeks ago? It’s made of pure 18K gold and those eyes are royal blue sapphires. One of these costs over five million!”

“That boy’s blessed beyond belief. In my next life, I want a mom like her…”

A bitter, mocking smile tugged at my lips.

If only these people knew that the real son of President Amara had to scavenge through trash in the pouring rain just to survive. Would they still look at him with envy?

Each time someone received the gift, they gasped in joy and praised Amara for her generosity.

In just ten minutes, she had given away hundreds of thousands, money that would take me years of grinding labor to earn.

When my turn finally came, I stood before the boy, holding that golden robotic dog like a crown jewel.

He looked noble, well-fed, well-dressed, sheltered from pain.

And then, my thoughts drifted to my son, frail and feverish, lying alone in a cold hospital bed.

My throat tightened like it had been stuffed with cotton.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t force out those birthday blessings.

“Hey, what’s your problem? If you’ve got nothing to say, then move on! Don’t block the line!”

Someone behind me snapped, shoving me hard. I stumbled to the side, caught off guard.

Ever since my son fell ill yesterday, every last cent I had gone into keeping him alive.