The Son Erased From Reality

Samantha Ross' hands trembled as she held me tightly in her arms.

"Norman," she choked out. "The doctor said that the accident not only left your left kidney severely contused and necrotic, but also caused serious damage to your right kidney function. To save your life, we have to remove your left kidney as soon as possible. I’ve scheduled the nephrectomy for you in a month."

The question that had been weighing on me slipped out despite myself. "Honey, did we ever have a son?"

Samantha let out a soft sigh. "Honey, I know how much it devastates you not to be able to have children anymore. You only have one kidney left, and your body is completely broken. You can’t bear any exertion at all, let alone intimate relations. For the rest of your life... you’ll never be able to have children again."

She paused before continuing, "If you really want a child, we can adopt one in the future."

My father-in-law, Edmund Ross, stood nearby with tears streaming down his face. "That's right, Norman. As long as you are healthy, that is all I ask for. Even if the Ross family line ends, you will always be my most important son-in-law."

However, their words stirred no comfort in me at all.

Every instinct I had screamed that they were lying. The fragments of memory left behind felt incomplete, as though someone had deliberately erased the most important parts. A dull ache along my waist lingered. It was an old strain that felt like the kind of soreness left from holding a child for long periods.

What were they trying so desperately to hide from me?

I let them guide me home like a puppet on strings. Only after I sat on the familiar bed did my awareness slowly return. The empty nightstand beside it unsettled me. I was convinced it ought to have been filled with little things, like a baby's rattle used to soothe a child.

When Samantha noticed my gaze fixed on the nightstand, she asked intently, "Norman, did you remember something?"

"No," I replied after a moment. "My memories are just a bit scrambled. I want to be alone for a while."

She pursed her lips and studied me for a moment. The scrutiny made cold sweat bead down my back. At last, she said, "Alright. If you feel unwell, tell me immediately. I'll be right outside. Get some rest."

When the door closed, I released a breath without realizing it. It was strange. I felt an instinctive resistance toward her, yet the memories I retained told me that when we were dating, and even during the first half year of our marriage, we had been deeply in love.

That meant something must have happened in the year between those six months and the car accident.

Perhaps the child I vaguely remembered had been born during that time. But where was the child now?

I examined the room carefully. It was simply too spotless. There was not a single trace of anything related to a child. It felt deliberate.

If what they said was true, that we had always wanted a child but could never conceive, then why was there not a single item related to fertility or pregnancy preparation?

As I lost myself in thought, my hand slipped unconsciously into the narrow gap between the mattress and the bed frame. It was a habit I had developed whenever I felt overwhelmed.

This time, my fingertips brushed against something hard and cold. I pulled it out and stared at it in disbelief. It was a small alloy wheel from a toy car.

It was undeniable that a child had once been part of this home.

Samantha and Edmund were definitely hiding something from me.