My son, Noah, went missing in the mountains and had not been found to this day.

My husband, Samuel Brown, known as “Teacher of the Year” who had touched the whole country and had been teaching here for five years, mobilized the entire village to search for three days and three nights.

He finally said to me with red eyes, “Myra, the mountains are too big. We may have to be prepared for the worst. I can't give up. There are still dozens of children waiting for me to teach them.”

His exhausted appearance broke my heart and I thought he was just hiding his sorrow.

Until one day, a young female volunteer who had recently arrived in town posted a teaching diary on her social media account.

The diary, accompanied by photos, documented the “touching moments” she shared with my husband during home visits.

[Mr. Brown said that sometimes loss is also a form of protection. To protect more children in the mountains, he had to sacrifice his own family. I feel so sorry for him.]

In the photos, one showed her gazing deeply at Samuel's back and the other showed Samuel putting new shoes on a boy.

That boy was wearing the same clothes my son was wearing on the day he went missing.

On Samuel's wrist is a colorful bracelet made by the female volunteer.

[Mr. Brown promised me that after this semester ends, he'll take me out of the mountains.]

My blood ran cold.

I mustered all my strength to leave a comment under the article:

[Wearing my son's clothes and running off with another woman, Mr. Brown, do you deserve the title of “Teacher of the Year”?]

On the phone, Samuel’s voice was filled with anger, “Have you lost your mind?”

“Lucy is a good girl. She genuinely wants to help the children. Don’t slander her with your filthy thoughts!”

“I warn you, delete that comment immediately, or we’re finished!”

——

I held the phone, listening to his furious outbursts, yet I felt no pain.

Only numbness.

This tone—I was all too familiar with it.

My son, Noah, went missing in the afternoon.

I cried and wanted to go search the back mountain, but Samuel used this same righteous tone to stop me.

“Myra, go back to the city first. I'll handle this here. Staying here will only cause trouble and hinder the search efforts. You must trust me and think of everyone else.”

“For everyone’s sake”—that phrase again.

I looked at the article posted by the female volunteer named Lucy on the screen.

[Mr. Brown promised me that after this semester ends, he’ll take me away from the mountains.]

Every word declared their future.

A future without me and my son.

I hung up the phone calmly.

Then I blocked all of Samuel’s contact information.

Social media, phone, even the bank account I once used to transfer money to him.

After doing all this, I reopened that Facebook official account article.

My comment, which had been replied to by countless people, was still at the top.

[Wearing my son's clothes and running off with another woman, Mr. Brown, do you deserve the title of “Teacher of the Year”?]

I didn't delete it. I took a screenshot, instead.

I opened my social media and edited it.

“My son, Noah, 1.1 meters tall, went missing on August 5th in the Summit Peak area. He was wearing a blue Ultraman jacket at the time of his disappearance. Anyone with information is urged to come forward. A reward of $10000 will be offered. Contact number: 19724567892.”

I stood up, poured myself a glass of iced water and drank it in one gulp.

Then I called Conrad Smith, the director of my foundation.

“Uncle Conrad.”

On the other end of the phone, Conrad was clearly still awake, sounding a bit surprised. “Myra? It's so late, what's up?”

“Start the emergency audit process for the ‘Sunshine Teaching’ project.”

Conrad paused for a long time on the other end. “Myra, I know you're upset, but... Samuel is the project’s spokesperson and its central figure. Auditing him now will spark public backlash.”

I laughed. “Then audit him too. Uncle Conrad, listen carefully. Immediately send him a formal legal notice on behalf of the foundation.”

“Inform him that, prior to the audit’s conclusion, in accordance with the supplementary agreement to Article 32 of Chapter 7 of our original contract,”

“Samuel is prohibited from leaving the mountainous area under any circumstances.”

“Otherwise, he will face liquidated damages equivalent to ten times the total project investment.”

Conrad sucked in a sharp breath.

Ten times the damages—that’s a nine-digit astronomical figure. Enough to ruin Samuel for life.

“Myra, you…”

“Uncle, this project was funded with my own money. His public image was built with my money. Now, I'm taking it back.”

Samuel's calls never came through to my phone again.

My assistant, Jane, told me he was nearly driving her phone crazy with calls.

From initial questioning, to mid-point threats, to final panic.

Jane said that when Samuel found out the foundation’s legal notice had been delivered to the village committee by a special messenger, he roared on the phone.

He was trapped in the mountains he once boasted about.

I laughed; this was just the beginning.

Lucy’s official account was updated.

The new title was: [When Kindness Meets Misunderstanding, All We Can Do Is Persevere].

In the article, she portrayed herself as an innocent, selfless person who was ruthlessly oppressed by a jealous woman from a wealthy family.

[Mr. Brown said, the darker it is, the more we must hold on to the light.]

[I don't know why Mrs. Brown hates me so much. Maybe it's because I shouldn't have been by Mr. Brown's side, taking away the care and attention that should have been hers.]

[But the children in the mountains are innocent. I am willing to bear all the misunderstandings, as long as they are not harmed.]

It’s written so well.

I was almost starting to feel sorry for her.

As expected, the comments section was filled with criticism directed at me.

[Just because you have a few stinking dollars, you think you can do whatever you want. Mr. Brown, run away!]

[This crazy woman can’t find her son, so she wants to destroy everyone else?]

[Poor little angel Lucy, give her a hug.]

Samuel’s colleague, the project manager I personally interviewed and hired, reposted the article on social media with the caption: [Five years of hard work destroyed in an instant, the hero’s downfall, the rise of the villain.]

The villagers who had benefited from my foundation also began to vent their grievances on various short video platforms.

They said I, the “heartless rich woman,” had cut off their livelihood and their children's hopes.

The public opinion fermented quickly.

My name and terms like “unscrupulous rich person” and “driving a hero to death” trended on social media.

Looking at the vile insults on the screen, I told Jane, “Compile a list of all project-related personnel who publicly supported Samuel in attacking me.”

Jane's pen flew across the tablet.

“Add them all to the ‘never collaborate’ blacklist for our foundation and all my personal businesses.”

“Additionally, notify finance to suspend all aid projects for the village, effective immediately.”

Opposition quickly arose within the foundation.

One of the directors, Hugo Wallace, an old friend of my father's, called me.

“Myra, you're being too impulsive. This is a blurring of the lines between public and private and it will damage the foundation's reputation!”

“Samuel is our ambassador. What you're doing is destroying our own fortress.”

I didn't argue with him.

I directly notified all the board members and called an emergency online meeting to be held in an hour.

At the start of the meeting, Hugo spoke first, bitterly accusing me of “acting on emotion.”

I waited for him to finish, then shared my screen.

On the screen were Samuel and Lucy's explicit chat records.

There was also the preliminary report on the accounting issues compiled by the audit team overnight.

The entire online meeting room fell silent.

I turned the camera toward myself and spoke calmly, “Now, I propose to remove Mr. Wallace's board membership, on the grounds that his judgment is severely impaired and he is unfit to participate in the decision-making of this foundation.”

The vote passed unanimously.

Hugo’s avatar went dark.

I looked around at the remaining faces on the screen.

“From now on, the ‘Sunshine Teaching’ project will be personally taken over by me and I will personally lead the audit and legal teams into the mountains tomorrow.”

I paused.

“My money, my project—I make the decisions. Anyone who stands in my way of finding my son is my enemy.”

Jane's tone was filled with concern. “Madam, Mr. Brown is looking for you everywhere. He called your parents, saying you've been traumatized and your mental state is very poor. He said he loves you and the children and can't live without you.”

I only replied with two words, “Let him be.”

After hanging up the phone, I looked out the window at the rapidly receding scenery.

The convoy stopped directly in front of the administrative building at the project base.

I didn't go to the dormitory where Samuel and I had once lived.

I moved into the independent suite reserved for me by the foundation.

As night fell, the mountains were so quiet you could hear the chirping of insects.

The knocking sound rang out.

I didn't move, just quietly watched the surveillance footage at the door.

Samuel was standing there.

He had lost weight in the few days since I had last seen him, his beard was unkempt and his eyes were red.

“Myra, will you open the door?”

His voice was hoarse, tinged with tears.

“I know you’re angry with me. It’s all my fault.”

“I shouldn’t have argued with you. I shouldn’t have defended Lucy. I just… I just didn’t want things to escalate.”

“Myra, after all these years together, you can’t just sentence me to death because of an article written by someone else.”

“Open the door, let me see you. I miss you so much.”

I almost laughed out loud.

I still didn’t move. On the surveillance screen, another figure emerged from behind Samuel.

It was Lucy.

She was wearing a cream-colored cashmere sweater.

That was the sweater I left here last winter.

Lucy spoke softly, her voice not loud but just loud enough to be heard inside the door.

“Myra, don't be angry with Mr. Brown. It's my fault. I shouldn't have written those words on the public account.”

“But I really feel so sorry for Mr. Brown. He hasn't slept for days and nights trying to find your son. He’s the one who’s suffering the most.”

I pressed the call button and my voice echoed through the intercom.

“Samuel.”

His body tensed and he immediately rushed to the door.

“Myra, you’re finally talking to me.”

“I ask you, why is she wearing my clothes?”

Samuel froze.