Saved a Hundred Goodbyes

My name was Natalia Granger. My husband, Andrew Lane, was a CEO, but he didn't love me or our son, Carl Lane.

In order to spend time with his first love, Jennifer Zink, and her child, Jordan, Andrew would give one piece of candy to Carl before leaving. He promised he would return once Carl collected 100 candy wrappers.

…

Yet, when Carl finally gathered 100 candy wrappers, Andrew dumped him by the side of a highway instead. It was all because of another child's birthday party.

Panicking, I searched everywhere for Carl. By the time I found him, he had become mute due to the trauma.

However, Andrew only commented flippantly, "Jenny and Jordan didn't mean it. Can't you two be more magnanimous?"

Eventually, Carl no longer became sad when Andrew left, nor did he hold out hope for Andrew's return.

Instead, he simply wanted to return the candy wrappers to Andrew while also leaving a note that read, "Daddy, I don't want you to come back anymore, but could you return my voice to me?"

"Mommy, I've already gathered 100 candy wrappers. Why isn't Daddy coming home?"

In a hospital room, I, Natalia Granger, stared at my son, Carl Lane, as he fumbled to use his newly learned sign language to communicate with me. My tears, which had been pooling in my eyes, finally spilled down my cheeks.

I didn't even know how to tell him that his father, Andrew Lane, wasn't coming home because he was spending time with another child. Andrew had long since forgotten about the promise that he had made.

Taking in the lost yet hopeful look in Carl's eyes, I forced myself to smile and hug him. "Once you've recovered, we'll find him together, okay?"

Carl nodded obediently, having understood my meaning. He voluntarily took his medicine. Then, he lay down to sleep while hugging his teddy bear.

I stayed with him until he was asleep, after which I stepped out of the room. Then, I helplessly sighed.

…

Eight days ago, Carl finally managed to collect 100 candy wrappers and instantly got ready to seek out Andrew. He wanted to ask Andrew whether the latter could come home and celebrate his seventh birthday with him.

Andrew had initially agreed, so Carl happily clambered into the car before they made their way back.

Midway through the journey, Jennifer Zink's son, Jordan Sallow, had called. He insisted that Andrew celebrate his birthday with him.

Just like that, Andrew abandoned Carl, who was only seven years old, at the highway.

By the time I found poor Carl, the trauma and low temperature had caused him to become mute.

Even so, Andrew, despite being Carl's father, never once came to visit him.

Unable to contain my raging emotions anymore, I dialed Andrew's number once again. Much like my previous attempts, he didn't pick up. However, I heard his ringtone sounding out from the other end of the corridor.

Jogging in the direction of the sound, I spotted Andrew, Jennifer, and Jordan together, looking like a harmonious family of three.

Upon seeing me, Andrew instantly became alert and shifted to stand protectively in front of Jennifer and Jordan. He looked like he was defending the most precious treasure in the world.

"What are you doing here? Didn't I tell you I didn't have time to meet you?"

The cold and distant tone of his voice shattered my heart. Pursing my lips, I turned to look at Jennifer and Jordan.

"You don't have the time for me and Carl, yet you are spending time with them."

At my accusatory and demanding words, Jordan burst into loud wails.

Jennifer quickly hugged him, her eyes reddening as she said, "Nat, please don't misunderstand us. Jordan accidentally cut his finger while doing arts and crafts today. Drew got worried, which is why he brought us to the hospital."

After saying that, she noticed the medical record I was holding. "Why are you here? Is Carl sick?"

Before I could reply, Andrew hurriedly comforted her. "What could possibly be wrong with Carl? If you ask me, she's just kicking up a fuss over nothing! She must have taught Carl to fake his illness, which is setting a bad example for him!"

Hearing that, I subconsciously squeezed the medical record tighter as a bitter feeling welled in me.

Yeah, what could possibly be wrong? It was just that Carl, a kid who had been taking singing lessons since young, contracted mutism and could no longer speak and sing ever again.

How could this possibly compare in severity and importance to the tiniest cut on Jordan's finger?