A son!?
Alan Morgan was utterly stunned. His mind reeled, a complete blank save for one word echoing over and over... son...
Shirley Grant has a son?
How... how... how could this be?
"A... a son?"
The two words felt lodged in his throat before he finally managed to force them out, turning his head to look at the landlord.
"Yes."
The landlord looked at Alan Morgan with curiosity. What’s with his expression? Could he possibly be the one... Shirley Grant’s...?
"You must be the child’s father, right? You’re truly irresponsible. Judging by your clothes, you’re clearly not short on money. You look respectable enough, so how could you let your wife and child live in such poverty?"
Although Shirley Grant had only lived here for a few days, the landlord had clearly seen her dire straits.
Alan Morgan felt a tremor run through him as he slowly pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The room was tiny, much smaller even than his own bathroom.
The room was dim and shadowy. The whitewash on the walls had flaked off in places, and so spots were stained with mold.
Perhaps because the window was too small and poorly positioned, a faint musty sll pervaded the room, making one unconsciously wrinkle their nose.
"Did they say where they were going?"
Alan Morgan turned his head to look at the landlord, then glanced at the man beside him.
The man imdiately understood, taking out six hundred USD from his pocket and handing it to the landlord.
"Hey, what’s this for?"
The landlord imdiately grew flustered, refusing the money repeatedly.
She hadn’t planned on hiding anything, but seeing them press money on her set off alarm bells in her mind.
These people... could they be bad news?
"Thank you for taking care of the mother and son during this ti. Please take this money."
After much hesitation, the landlord finally gritted her teeth and accepted it.
"Actually, it’s not because of the money. I believe you’re not a bad person. After all, you and Gerry Peary look so much alike; anyone can see you’re father and son."
The landlord pocketed the money, hesitated for a mont, then looked at Alan Morgan.
"I asked Miss Grant before, but she wouldn’t say. However, Gerry Peary told they were going to so uncle’s house for dical treatnt."
Alan Morgan’s mind struggled to absorb so much information at once. He took a small step back, rubbing his forehead.
"dical treatnt?"
Gerry Peary... so the child is nad Gerry Peary?
But dical treatnt?
Is the child sick?
Or is Shirley Grant sick?
He glanced around the dilapidated room, his thoughts drifting to the Royal Bay Villa.
If she hadn’t been completely desperate, she probably wouldn’t have sold the villa.
She also knew that once the villa was sold, he would find his way here. That’s why she must have hurried to leave last night.
"Yes, such a well-behaved child like Gerry Peary, how could he get such an illness? I think Miss Grant ntioned it once, sothing about his heart. Sigh, nowadays, there are all sorts of strange illnesses. You can tell just by hearing about this one that it’ll cost a fortune to treat."
Alan Morgan’s hands clenched into tight fists, as he struggled to suppress the tremors wracking his body.
Gerry Peary...
He hadn’t even had a chance to fully process the joy of having a son before fate dealt him such a devastating blow.
"Shirley Grant!"
BANG!
Alan Morgan slamd his fist against the Grand Gate. The dilapidated house couldn’t withstand such a powerful blow; the aging, sowhat rotten wooden door crashed inward, sending dust billowing up from the floor.
Sunlight stread in through the doorway, illuminating the swirling dust motes.
AAH!
The landlord jumped in fright. The grandson in her arms wailed, not daring to even look at the furious man.
Alan Morgan stood there, blood dripping from the back of his hand, his chest heaving. He looked like a wrathful god of death, poised to unleash devastating calamity at any mont.
User Comments
0 comments from readers