“Mom, I’m so hot.”

At three in the morning, Leo’s voice startled me from light sleep. I felt his forehead—it was frighteningly hot.


“Oh God, baby, you have a fever.” I quickly got up and turned on the bedside lamp. In the dim yellow light, Leo’s little face was flushed red, his forehead covered with fine beads of sweat. I frantically searched for the thermometer, softly reassuring him: “It’s okay, Mommy’s here.” 39.2 degrees. My heart sank.

Leo rarely got sick, but when he did get a fever, it came on strong. Half an hour later his temperature approached 40 degrees, and I decided to take him to the hospital.

In the taxi, Leo curled up in my arms, his little face flushed. “Mom, am I being brave?” he asked weakly.


“You’re the bravest little man in the world.” I held him tight, feeling the heat radiating from his small body, my throat tight with suppressed tears.

—


The emergency room at Manhattan Central Hospital was always busy. The nurse gave Leo an initial examination and diagnosed him with acute tonsillitis, requiring hospitalization for observation. Leo fell asleep under the effect of medication, his small hand tightly holding mine, unwilling to let go even in sleep. I sat by the hospital bed, tiredly rubbing my temples.

Moonlight filtered through the curtains onto Leo’s face, outlining his features—that stubborn chin, that high bridge of the nose, those thick eyelashes under tightly closed eyes—all these characteristics were perfect replicas of that man.

I gently stroked his black hair, complex emotions welling up inside me. Whenever Leo fell ill, I would think of those nights alone, of those fears and worries with no one to share them. I remembered that rainy night when one-month-old Leo’s fever wouldn’t break, and I held him waiting in the emergency room.

The nurse came in to check on Leo, interrupting my thoughts.

“His fever has gone down a bit,” she said with a smile. “Children recover quickly, don’t worry too much.”

I nodded gratefully, but the unease in my heart didn’t dissipate. Tomorrow was the board meeting, I should attend, but Leo’s condition… I took out my phone and sent Thompson a brief message, informing him that I might need to take a day off.

—

At six in the morning, the vibration of my phone woke me up.

“Reed, you can’t miss the board meeting,” Thompson’s text read. “William Morgan will be attending today. This is the best opportunity to get close to him.”

I looked at the sleeping Leo, and as I hesitated, another message came in from an unknown number:

“I heard your child is sick. Do you need help? —E”

Ethan. My heart suddenly raced. How did he know Leo was sick? How did he get my private number? I stared at the screen, my finger hovering over the keyboard, hesitating on how to respond.

“Thank you for your concern. He’s better, but I need to stay with him.”

In less than a minute, the reply came: “I understand. I’ll arrange for the board meeting to be recorded, you can catch up later. Your child is more important.”

I stared at this message, feeling a warmth spreading in my chest. This was the Ethan I remembered—considerate, understanding, putting people first. Not that cold heir to a business empire.

—

At noon, Leo was much better, even clamoring to watch cartoons. I breathed a sigh of relief, watching him regain his vitality, those green eyes once again full of their usual spirit. I was about to go to the hospital cafeteria when the door to the room was suddenly pushed open, and my heart stopped the instant I recognized that tall figure.

“I heard there’s a brave little warrior here who needs supplies?”

Ethan stood at the door, dressed in a suit, yet not as stern and imposing as he was in the office. His expression was gentle, his eyes showing genuine concern, and he was holding a food bag and a stuffed bear.

“Ethan? How did you get here?”

“I have some friends at the hospital.” His voice was softer than usual, with a hint of nervousness. His gaze moved from me to Leo on the bed, and a complex emotion flashed in his eyes. “This must be the brave little patient.”

Leo curiously examined this stranger, his eyes wide open. I saw him studying Ethan’s face, that focused expression identical to Ethan’s when he was thinking deeply. Then he smiled shyly, revealing an adorable smile missing a baby tooth: “Who are you?”

“I’m your mom’s friend, Ethan Morgan.” He approached the bed, his movements gentler than those of the usually decisive CEO. He handed Leo the stuffed bear. “I heard you were sick, so I brought a friend to keep you company.”

“Thank you, uncle!” Leo took the bear and immediately hugged it. “I’ll name him Captain Morgan, like a pirate!”

Ethan smiled—that genuine smile I hadn’t seen in a long time. Laugh lines spread from the corners of his eyes, making him instantly look several years younger, as if we were back in our Princeton days. “That’s a cool name,” he said approvingly, then took out several children’s books from the bag. “I wasn’t sure what kind of books you like, so I brought a few different ones.”

“I like dinosaurs and spaceships!” Leo said excitedly, completely forgetting he was still sick.

“What a coincidence, I liked those too when I was little.” Ethan sat on the edge of the bed, naturally opening a dinosaur encyclopedia and beginning to introduce different types of dinosaurs to Leo. His voice was deep and magnetic, full of patience and enthusiasm as he explained, completely unlike the brief and forceful business leader in the conference room.

I stood aside, my heart pounding. Watching them sitting side by side on the hospital bed, I was surprised to discover they had the same posture, the same gestures, even the same way of smiling. They both slightly furrowed their brows when concentrating, lightly tapped their fingers when thinking, and their eyes lit up when discovering new knowledge. In that moment, the image of father and son recognizing each other was so vivid.

But fear followed. I felt a wave of panic, afraid Ethan would notice these similarities, afraid he would uncover the lie I had carefully maintained for five years.

“Olivia, can I have a word?” He turned to me, his tone calm but his eyes complex.

I nodded and said to Leo: “Sweetheart, Mommy and uncle are going outside to talk for a minute. We’ll be right back.”

Leo nodded, already completely immersed in the world of dinosaurs. I followed Ethan out of the room, my heart beating so fast it almost suffocated me. In the hallway, the hospital’s bustle seemed isolated in another world, leaving only that suffocating silence between us.

“Why didn’t you tell me your son was sick?” He spoke first, his voice deep and restrained, but I could hear the concern and a hint of hurt in it. “I could have helped.”

“This is my private matter, Ethan.” I tried to stay calm, arms crossed over my chest in an unconscious defensive posture. “We’re just colleagues now.”

“Is it because of your husband?” A sharp light flashed in his eyes as he stepped forward, shortening the distance between us, his voice lowering. “Where is he? Why is he letting you take care of a sick child alone? If it were my child, I would never—” He suddenly stopped, as if realizing what he’d said, then took a deep breath and stepped back. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.”

This unfinished sentence stirred waves in my heart. If it were his child, what would he do? Would he care like this? Would he be a good father? These questions haunted me like ghosts, making it almost impossible to breathe.

I avoided his question: “Thank you for your concern and the gifts. But please understand, my personal life and work are separate.”

He looked at me deeply. “Leo is adorable, and smart,” he said softly, with a strange tenderness in his tone. “He… looks like you.”

My heart skipped a beat. Had he noticed something?

“Thank you,” I responded briefly.

“His eyes are green, like yours.” Ethan continued, a probing quality in his tone as he searched for every subtle expression on my face. “But some of his expressions… are familiar. That focused look, that expression when he’s thinking…” His voice grew softer, almost becoming a whisper. “It reminds me of someone.”

A dangerous topic. I felt a chill spreading along my spine.

“The doctor says he can be discharged this afternoon,” I quickly changed the subject. “I’ll be back at work tomorrow.”

Ethan seemed to want to say something, but in the end, he just nodded: “If you need help, contact me anytime.”

Before turning to leave, he looked back once more at Leo in the hospital room, with an indescribable emotion in his eyes—was it nostalgia? Longing? Or some deeper connection?

—

In the afternoon, Leo’s fever had completely subsided, and the doctor allowed us to be discharged. In the taxi home, sunlight streamed through the window onto Leo’s face, adding a touch of color to his pale little face. He clutched the “Captain Morgan” bear tightly, as if it were the most precious treasure in the world.

“That uncle is so nice, is he your friend?” Leo looked up at me, curiosity sparkling in his green eyes.

“Yes, a work friend,” I answered cautiously.

“He looks like a superhero from TV!” Leo said excitedly, his little hands gesturing in the air. “He knows so much about dinosaurs! And his voice is so cool, like those people who tell stories. Will he come see me again?”

My heart tightened. Leo had never seen his father, yet was instinctively drawn to Ethan. Was this the power of blood ties?

“Sweetheart, Uncle Ethan is very busy. He’s the boss of a big company.”

“Busier than Daddy?” Leo asked innocently, with an expectation in his eyes that I couldn’t bear.

I fell silent. I had never told Leo his father’s true identity, only that he was “working far away.” This lie was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain, especially after Ethan’s reappearance. As Leo grew older, he would ask more questions, and my answers were becoming increasingly feeble.

“Yes, busier than Daddy,” I finally said, feeling a deep sense of guilt.

Leo nodded, seeming to accept this explanation, then looked down at his new teddy bear. “Captain Morgan will protect me, just like Daddy, right?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” I answered softly, my throat tight with suppressed tears.

Back home, Thompson called: “You must return tomorrow. William Morgan is back in the country and will attend the board meeting. This is the best opportunity to get close to him.”

After hanging up, I watched Leo playing in the living room, my heart filled with mixed emotions. Today at the hospital, Ethan had almost discovered something. He had noticed certain characteristics in Leo, those similarities I had always tried to ignore. If he continued to investigate…

My phone rang again—a text from Ethan: “How is Leo? Hope he’s better. By the way, my father will attend tomorrow’s board meeting. He’s very interested in meeting the new risk analyst.”

I stared at the phone screen, feeling a chill spreading. Eight years ago, he had warned me never to approach his son, not to damage the Morgan family’s reputation and Ethan’s future.

Just then, the doorbell rang. My nerves instantly tensed, and I instinctively pulled Leo behind me. I cautiously looked through the peephole to see a smartly dressed stranger holding an elegant gift box.

“Ms. Reed?” His voice was deep. “Mr. Morgan sent me to deliver some children’s medicines and nutritional supplements, hoping they will help your son’s recovery.”

I didn’t immediately open the door: “Which Mr. Morgan?”

“Mr. William Morgan.”

This answer put me on alert. William Morgan? Not Ethan? Why would William Morgan care about a child who had no connection to him?

“Please convey my thanks, but it’s not necessary. Leo is much better now,” I responded through the door, my voice slightly trembling with tension.

“Sir insists on expressing his concern.” The man’s tone was calm but brooked no refusal. “I’ll leave the gift here. Good night.”

I waited until he left before carefully opening the door. Inside the gift box were premium children’s supplements and some imported medicines, along with a card written in elegant pen: “Wishing Leo a speedy recovery. Looking forward to meeting you tomorrow. —William Morgan”

This unexpected gift and message sent chills down my spine. William Morgan not only knew Leo was sick, but also knew his name. This was far from simple courtesy; it was a carefully crafted message.

And more dangerously, Ethan and Leo’s meeting had planted a seed. When I watched them sitting side by side, I saw not only the present but also that possible future—a future where they knew each other’s identities.

Would that future be a blessing or a disaster?