"Quinn, I accidentally hit someone when I was driving earlier. I think… I think it was your son!"

The day after my friend, Owen Jolin, gets his driving license, he insists on driving to the kindergarten to pick up his son by himself.

I advise him to spend a few more days practicing his driving skills, seeing as that road is always packed with trucks.

But he just rolls his eyes at me. "Don't worry about me. I'm super good at driving, you know!"

After that, he stomps on the gas pedal and speeds away in his car.

But a short while later, he calls me on the phone, and he sounds extremely frightened. He tells me that he has hit someone outside the kindergarten. He said the child is completely drenched in blood, and he somehow looks like my son, Elliot Shelby.

I'm stunned, to say the least. Elliot has come down with a fever today, so he's skipped school for the day.

Then… who on earth did Owen kill?

My mind buzzed, unable to process what I'd just heard. I spoke without thinking.

"What… What did you say?"

My friend, Owen Jolin, replied, "I drove in to pick up my kid and hit the gas instead of the brake. I hit a little boy, and there was blood all over his face. He was wearing that blue hoodie, the same one Elliot always wears."

I started to explain, but Owen cut me off. "Quinn, just get over here! I really didn't mean to."

He hung up. I didn't have time to think. I grabbed my coat and rushed out.

When I reached the kindergarten, I was completely dazed. Several people had gathered in the courtyard.

A white sedan sat crooked on the playground. In front of the hood lay a small child, his blue hoodie already soaked through with blood.

Owen crouched nearby, crying. When he saw me approach, he lunged forward to hug me.

"Quinn! I'm so sorry! I really didn't mean to! I'm just not a good driver."

I looked at the horrific scene, furious.

"I warned you this morning that the road conditions were bad on this stretch. You insisted on driving yourself, and now look what happened. What good are apologies now?"

Owen covered his face and cried even harder. I ignored him and walked toward the child. The boy lay on his side, face down, his features obscured. But that blue hoodie was identical to the one my son wore.

I crouched down to turn him over. The moment my fingers touched the child's shoulder, he moved slightly.

"Mm… Hurts…"

He let out a faint moan, his voice barely audible. He was still alive!

My heart lurched violently. I jerked my head up. "He's alive! Call an ambulance!"

Owen froze, his face going blank. "He's still alive?"

"Yes! Call 911!" I fumbled for my phone.

But Owen didn't move. He stood there, his expression shifting, then suddenly stepped forward and pressed down on my hand.

"Quinn, don't be impulsive. The kid's been hit this badly. He's definitely bleeding internally. If you move him, he might die even faster."

He lowered his voice, speaking rapidly. "And look at him. This is obviously a final surge before the end. He can't be saved. Don't waste medical resources."

I couldn't believe my ears. "What did you say?"

"I'm just telling you the truth!"

Owen gripped my wrist tightly. "If you call 911 now and they take him to the hospital but can't save him, we'll still have to pay a huge bill for emergency treatment! And if word gets out, my license will definitely be revoked. I'll never be able to drive again for the rest of my life!"

I stared at him as if seeing this person for the first time. "This is a life we're talking about! You hit him!"

"I know! But didn't I just tell you it wasn't on purpose?"

His voice rose. "Quinn, we've been friends for so many years. Can't you think about me for once?"

"You've really lost your mind!"

I shook off his hand and pulled out my phone to make the call. "Hello, 911? This is—"

Before I could finish, someone snatched the phone right out of my hand. Owen hung up the call and clutched my phone in a death grip.

"Have you gone crazy, Quinn? I told you he can't be saved! Are you trying to destroy me?"

I shook with rage. Just as I moved to take my phone back, footsteps sounded behind me.

"What's going on? What happened?"

I turned around to see the principal, Harold Newman, hurrying over with several teachers.

I lunged toward Principal Newman like someone grasping at a lifeline. "Principal Newman, call 911! A child's been hit, and he's still alive!"

Principal Newman's gaze fell on the child lying on the ground, his expression shifting. "Don't panic. Let me take a look."

He turned and said something to a teacher, who nodded and hurried off.

I pressed urgently. "Did you call 911?"

Principal Newman didn't answer. Instead, he looked at Owen. "Are you the child's father?"

Owen shook his head and pointed at me. "He's the father. I'm his friend. I hit the kid by accident."

Principal Newman nodded, then turned to me. "Don't panic yet. I've already sent for our school nurse. Let's have him assess the situation first."

I froze. "The school nurse? You're not calling an ambulance?"

"Even if we call one, we'll have to wait. It's better to have the nurse check on him first. Don't worry, our nurse is very experienced."

Something felt wrong, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Within minutes, a middle-aged man in a white coat came running over with a medical kit.

"Principal Newman, what's going on?"

Principal Newman gestured toward the child on the ground. "Car accident. See what you can do."

"See what you can do?" Why did that sound so wrong?

The man knelt down, lifted the child's eyelids, and felt for a pulse at his neck. The whole process took less than 30 seconds.

Then he stood up and brushed the dust off his hands. "He's gone. His pupils are dilated. Just find somewhere to bury him."

Something snapped inside me.

"What did you just say?"

I rushed forward and grabbed his coat. "You barely looked at him, and you're already calling it? Did you even examine him properly?"

The man stumbled backward, irritation flooding his face. "Am I the medical professional here or are you? I said he's gone, so he's gone. What else is there to see?"

"That's bullshit!" My vision went red. "He was alive! I heard him say it hurts just now!"

"That was a nerve reflex. The body's last response."

He pulled free from my grip and straightened his coat. "If you don't believe me, check for yourself. See if he's moving now."

I dropped to the child's side, my hand shaking as I touched his face. It was cold. He really wasn't moving anymore.

Tears flooded my eyes. It wasn't my son, but this was a life.

I shot to my feet, eyes burning as I turned to Principal Newman. "I'm calling the police! This is a matter of life and death!"

His face hardened instantly. "Have you lost your mind? If this gets out, our kindergarten's reputation will be destroyed. Who would send their children here after that?"

I stared in shock. "This is a human life!"

"The child is already dead!" Principal Newman's voice rose sharply. "What good will calling the police do now? Will it bring him back?"

Owen sidled up to me and grabbed my arm. "Quinn, the principal's right. Don't do anything rash. Your son's already gone. Making this public won't help anyone."

I shook him off violently. "Shut up!"

Owen stumbled but didn't get angry. His tone grew even softer. "Quinn, I know you're heartbroken, but you need to think about the bigger picture. We'll handle the child's funeral properly. We'll pay for everything. We won't shortchange him."

Principal Newman nodded, his tone gentler now. "Here's what we'll do. The school will contribute 50 thousand dollars, and your friend will contribute another 50 thousand—100 thousand dollars in total. Take it, and we can put this behind us."

I looked at them as if I was staring at monsters. "That's a life. You think you can settle this with 100 thousand dollars?"

Owen sighed, a trace of impatience creeping into his voice. "Quinn, stop being so stubborn. I apologized, and I'm willing to pay. What more do you want? To see me behind bars?"

Principal Newman nodded. "Exactly. The dead can't come back. You need to move forward. 100 thousand dollars is quite generous. People of your station aren't worth that much money."

What did he just say?

Blood rushed to my head.

"You'd better wait right there. I'm calling the police now."

I reached for my phone, then remembered Owen had taken it from me. "Give me back my phone!"

Owen instinctively stepped back, hiding the phone behind him. "No way. You can't call the police!"

"Give it to me!"

I lunged at him. Owen yelped and dodged backward.

Principal Newman shouted from the side, "Stop him! Someone stop him!"

Two teachers rushed forward and grabbed my arms from both sides. I struggled with everything I had, but I couldn't break free.

Something cold flickered in Owen's eyes. "Quinn, don't blame me for this. I'm doing this for your own good. Once you calm down, you'll realize that 100 thousand dollars is better than making this a bigger mess."

"You killed someone, and now you're stopping me from calling the police. That's for my own good?"

I stared him down. Owen looked away, refusing to meet my eyes.

Something had felt off about how he'd insisted on driving to pick up his kid today. He used to be terrified of driving. He'd even put off getting his license for years because of that.

Principal Newman sighed. "Alright, enough of this. The child's already gone. Making a scene won't help."

"Tell you what, I'll add another 20 thousand. 120 thousand dollars total. That's my final offer. Take the money, go home, and handle the funeral properly."

I looked at them, then suddenly laughed. "Principal Newman, do you know whose child just died?"

Principal Newman frowned. "Isn't it your son?"

Owen turned to look at me too.

I forced a smile. "My son has a fever. He didn't even come to kindergarten today."

Owen's expression froze. "What did you say?"

"I said Elliot has a fever. My mother's watching him at home. He never came to school."

Owen shot to his feet. "That's impossible! It can't be! That kid's wearing the same clothes as Elliot. I saw it clearly!"

"The clothes might be the same, but the person isn't."

Principal Newman reacted the fastest, immediately changing his tune. "Oh! So it was a misunderstanding! Then whose child is this? Someone contact the parents immediately!"

He turned to the teachers. "Go check which class has a child absent today. Figure out who this is!"

I watched him coldly. "A minute ago, you said it was my son and wanted to settle this privately. Now that you know it's not, suddenly you're in a hurry to find the parents?"

Principal Newman's smile froze.

Owen's expression shifted. He seemed to think of something, then moved closer and tugged at my sleeve.

"Quinn, I was wrong just now. Don't take it to heart. Look, since this isn't your son, it has nothing to do with you anymore. Why don't you head home? We'll handle it from here."

Nothing to do with me? I looked at his face and suddenly felt as though he were a stranger.

"Funny how it involved me when you were grabbing my phone a minute ago."

Owen's expression changed. I couldn't be bothered with him anymore. I turned and walked toward the child.

It didn't matter whose child it was. I couldn't just leave him lying there like this. But I'd only taken two steps when a voice spoke up behind me.

"Wait, that doesn't seem right. I remember your son came to school this morning."

I stopped in my tracks. "What did you say?"

One of the teachers spoke up hesitantly. "I was at the gate this morning, greeting the children. I saw Elliot come in with my own eyes. He was wearing that blue hoodie."

My stomach dropped. "That's impossible! Elliot has a fever. He didn't come today!"

"I really did see him!" The young teacher grew anxious. "I even said hello to him. He greeted me and everything!"

Another teacher nearby nodded. "That's right, I saw him too. He even waved at me."

I stood there frozen, my head spinning. Owen looked at the teachers, then at me. A slow smile spread across his face.

"Quinn, didn't you say Elliot didn't come to school? How come so many teachers saw him then? They can't all be seeing things, can they? Maybe you're just too upset and got confused?"