Chapter 2

After the baby was born, everything about the baby seemed to have nothing to do with me.

Duane was the one who went and got the birth certificate; Duane was the one who signed as guardian.

On the one-month checkup form, in the space for emergency contact, it was Duane's name and Duane's number written there too.

That night, my mother-in-law posted to her social media feed.

The photo was Duane sitting on the couch holding the baby, the baby dozing peacefully against his chest.

My mother-in-law and Hester sat on either side of him, both of them laughing happily.

The caption read: "A godfather's more reliable than the real father. Some people can't even mix a bottle of formula and still want to call themselves a dad?"

Below it, dozens of likes.

Hester had liked it, and left a comment too: "Thank you for all your hard work, Duane."

I came across that post while I was eating instant noodles in my rented room.

I'd been living out on my own for almost a month by then. Hester said the house was too crowded, that I should move out for now and we'd figure it out once the baby was older.

The day I moved out, Duane moved in.

I stared at that photo for a long time. Then my phone rang. It was Hester.

"Percival, I've been looking at postpartum care centers. Let's book Serene Moon. The twenty-eight-day package, a hundred twenty-eight thousand."

My throat tightened. "There isn't that much left in my account."

"Don't your parents have their retirement savings? Use that for now. We'll pay them back later."

She said it so lightly.

My voice hardened. "That's my parents' retirement money."

"It's not like we won't pay it back. What matters more, the baby or the money?"

I gripped the phone, and I laid out my condition.

"Hester, if you make Duane leave, I'll pay it. Deal?"

The other end went quiet for a moment.

Then her voice turned cold. "Percival, how can you be so petty?"

"Duane just got back from overseas, he doesn't have any money on him. If you make him leave now, where's he supposed to go?"

"Don't you have any compassion at all?"

I opened my mouth and said nothing.

My wife was aching over another man having no money.

"A hundred twenty-eight thousand. Are you paying or not?"

"No."

Then the line went dead.

My parents' retirement money was what the two of them had saved selling breakfast back in our small hometown, one bowl of orange juice, one bowl of wonton soup at a time.

My mother had a herniated disc, my father had high blood pressure.

Neither of them would spend a cent on a doctor. They said the money was to be saved for me. Hester knew all of this.

That night I couldn't sleep. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling.

At half past twelve, my phone rang again.

It was Hester's number, but the voice on the other end wasn't hers.

"Is this Mr. James? Your child has a fever of a hundred and three point six, we're in the emergency room right now..."

I rolled out of bed, bare feet hitting the floor, the cold shooting up from the soles.

"I'm on my way."