This wasn’t the first time Marissa had brought this up.

I placed a small piece of chicken on Mia’s plate. “Mom, why are you bringing this up again? Mia’s still young; there’s no rush. Everything we have will belong to her, anyway.”

Marissa had always preferred boys. However, ever since Mia was born, she’d stopped talking about having a grandson entirely.

“A girl needs something to fall back on,” Marissa muttered with clear disapproval.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Of course, I appreciated her care for Mia, but her sudden change in attitude always felt a bit off.

“Mom, come on. Do you think I’d ever shortchange Mia? She’s my daughter.”

I meant it as a light joke, but Marissa’s face turned sour instantly.

Sensing the tension, Daniel jumped in to defuse the situation. “All right, Mom, we’ll handle it ourselves. Don’t worry about it.”

“Honey, Mia’s got rice on her chin. Go ahead and wipe her up.”

I grabbed a napkin and wiped Mia’s face like I’d done countless times.

Marissa’s attitude didn’t bother me. She was just an old woman stuck in her ways. Why waste my energy arguing with her?

“Hey, Daniel, don’t you think Mia looks nothing like me?” I said, looking at Mia.

Mia had darker skin, single eyelids, and thin lips. Meanwhile, Daniel and I both had double eyelids and fairer complexions.

For some reason, Claudia’s face popped into my mind.

“She looks more like Claudia than me, don’t you think?” I said absentmindedly.

Then I heard the clatter of a bowl hitting the floor.

I turned to find that Daniel had knocked over a dish.

“Seriously? Can’t you be more careful?” I scolded, noticing rice scattered all over the floor. “Now poor Mrs. Bailey is going to have to clean this up.”

Before I could finish, Marissa slammed her chopsticks on the table.

“You’re impossible! Can’t we have one meal without you ruining it?

“I’ve had enough. You’ve got me so worked up that I can’t even eat!”

I sat there, stunned, as she stormed off. It was as if an evil spirit had possessed her.

Daniel placed some food into my bowl. “Honey, you’ve had a long day. Don’t overthink things. Just eat, okay?”

However, as I watched his hand move, I thought of Claudia’s post again.

Funny enough, the hands really did look alike.

…

The tension in the house had been unbearable ever since I joked about Mia looking like Claudia.

Marissa gave me glares every chance she got, and the air was so thick with an awkwardness that I dreaded coming home.

So, one evening after work, I decided to take a walk around the neighborhood instead of heading straight back.

“Sniffle… sniffle…”

As I neared home, I spotted a little figure huddled in the corner behind the dumpster.

“Finn? What are you doing here all by yourself?”

If he hadn’t been crying, I might not have even noticed him.

“Where’s your mom?” I glanced around, but the street was empty.

Finn looked up at me, his tear-streaked face smudged with dirt.

When he saw it was me, he quickly tried to wipe his tears with his dirty little hands, only smearing the grime further.

“Auntie…” he whimpered softly.

My heart melted. How could there be such a sweet child?

“Why are you here by yourself, Finn? Come on, I’ll take you home. Aren’t you scared of being out here all alone?” I crouched down and spoke gently.

Finn hesitated, his eyes filling with fear.

“I don’t want to go home. Mommy will hit me,” he choked out, his voice trembling.

My gaze shifted to his arm, and I gasped.

Peeking out from his sleeve was a fresh wound, still bleeding.

“This… Did your mom do this to you?” I asked, unable to believe it. What kind of parent would hurt their child like that?

Finn nodded quietly. “Mommy says if Finn is bad, Finn gets punished.”

I quickly took him to the nearest pharmacy and bought some solution to clean his wound.

The clerk’s jaw dropped as I rolled up Finn’s sleeves. “Oh my God. Who could do this to a kid?”

I couldn’t agree more. The higher I rolled his sleeves, the more injuries I found. Some were fresh, and some were old. It seemed this was a daily occurrence.

“Does it hurt, Finn?” I asked softly, trying to be as gentle as possible.

The little boy was sitting still like an angel. When he heard me, he softly replied, “It doesn’t hurt, Auntie.”

I couldn’t help but wonder if Claudia was taking out all her grief from losing her husband on this poor child.

I resolved to talk to her when I got home, no matter how awkward it might be.

However, in the next second, I froze in shock.

…

There, on his arm, was a faint but unmistakable birthmark.