Chapter 4

The little girl opened her mouth and cried out in protest. "I'm not a rabbit. I'm just sick."

"You're not sick. My mom says ugly rabbits like you lied in your last life, that's why you got punished."

The assistant glanced at me, then reached out and hauled the boy who'd been bullying her clean off his feet.

The boy shrieked in panic, and the other kids who hadn't been caught scattered.

"Let me go, you're a bad man."

"Waah, I want my mom."

The little girl slowly picked herself up off the ground, walked over to the assistant, and tugged at his sleeve.

"Mister, he's scared now. Can you let him go?"

"He was mean to me, but maybe it's only because I frightened him."

I crouched down to meet her at eye level. She stepped back twice and instinctively covered her mouth with her hand.

But it was already too late. I could clearly see the split in her lip and the teeth showing through.

"Well, since such a sweet little girl asked, I suppose I have no choice but to agree."

The assistant let go.

The boy took off running.

The little girl gave me a small bow and ran off too.

Except the direction she went was the foundation hospital next door, the one set up for cleft lip and palate.

It had even been in the news.

Though it was about to fold now, apparently because it had run out of money.

I turned and started toward the hospital.

"Better than donating to a pack of ingrates. I'll take my money somewhere else."

Bunny Foundation Hospital.

The one who received me was a middle-aged woman.

She stood off to one side of me, rubbing her hands together, a little flustered.

"That gentleman just now said you'd like to donate to treat the children here."

"We have quite a few kids who need treatment. But rest assured, we won't waste a single cent you give us."

The director took out an itemized statement.

Every sum was marked out clearly, where it came from and where it went.

Exactly who had received treatment, all of it carefully recorded.

There were plenty of other parents around with their children, all of them plainly and simply dressed.

They held their children close and murmured their thanks.

"You can treat the more serious cases first. Our child isn't urgent, we can wait our turn."

A few of the kids clung to their father's or mother's clothes.

Softly, timidly, they said thank you to me.

"Thank you, mister."

No pushing, no grabbing, everything in good order, neither servile nor proud.

The assistant had someone look into the foundation's finances.

Every dollar had gone where it mattered most.

Once she saw I'd finished going through it, the director asked quietly,

"Um, may I ask, the amount you're donating…"

"Let's start with a million a month. And I'll put you in touch with a cleft lip and palate treatment team, to bring the costs down for you even further."

The director froze, and the next second her eyes filled with tears. She wiped at them over and over with her sleeve.

She wanted to shake my hand, then thought her hands were dirty and hurried outside to wash them.

"Thank you, Mr. Baxter. You've truly saved these children."

"From now on, these kids can finally take off their masks."

The thanks rose from every side, and for a moment they stirred something in me.

Only the next second, the assistant leaned his laptop toward me.

"Someone's spreading rumors online that you bribed the director to falsify the records. There's photo evidence, too."