I guess I’d been too tense because once I relaxed, I passed out cold.

In my dreams, I was right back in that past life again.

Tyrell’s twisted grin kept flashing before my eyes.

When I woke up, I was drenched in sweat, and the car had already pulled up to our building.

Alfie hopped out, full of energy, heading upstairs.

That’s when my phone rang—it was the orphanage director.

“Mr. Lyttleton? Sorry to bother you. I just wanted to let you know. Someone’s adopted Tyrell. Since you’ve been supporting him for a while, I thought you should hear it from me.”

I couldn’t care less about Tyrell at this point.

I just muttered something, said I got it, and hung up.

‘Guess he’s found a new target now. Hopefully they won’t end up like I did in my last life. I’ve done all I can.’

Back home, I helped my son wash up and get to bed.

But I couldn’t sleep. Tossed and turned until three in the morning.

Then came the knocking.

The knock was loud and repetitive. I sat up in a panic.

Cecily woke up too, heading for the door.

I stopped her fast, put a finger to my lips.

I crept to the door and peeked through the peephole.

Tyrell’s eyes—cold and intense—stared straight back at me.

My whole body went weak. I had to cover my mouth to stop from gasping.

But he didn’t leave.

After two minutes of silence, his voice came through, choking up and crying.

“Sir… Ma’am… I know y’all in there. Please… please help Tyrell.

“My adoptive folks took me home and started beatin’ on me—nonstop. I barely got out alive. If y’all don’t help me, they gon’ drag me back… and I’m not makin’ it out again.

“Sir, Ma’am… I’m beggin’ you! I’m on my knees right now!”

I had no idea how he even found our place.

Cecily, in a panic, was about to open the door. But I quickly blocked her.

Shouting through the door, I said, “Tyrell, we’re already asleep. The director said you’ve been adopted. Legally, we’re not your guardians! If your adoptive parents accuse us of kidnapping, we’d never be able to clear our names!

“You should go back. We really can’t help. Alfie has school tomorrow. Please stop shouting.”

Cecily looked at me, frowning.

“Finch, don’t you think you’re being a bit too paranoid? He’s just a kid, and he can’t even walk. What could he possibly do?

“It’s just one night. Tomorrow morning, I’ll take him to the police department. We can find him a new home or send him back to the orphanage.”

She reached for the lock again—I shoved her back a good two meters.

“Did you even think about this? If his legs don’t work, how did he find our place? And how the hell did he get to the 15th floor?! There’s no wheelchair ramp downstairs!”

Cecily froze.

It hit her instantly.

Outside, Tyrell’s cries got louder, drawing attention.

He started tearing his clothes, showing off all the bruises and injuries.

The neighbors began whispering.

“Whose kid is that? Poor thing looks beat up… Didn’t this family just get back this afternoon? Why won’t they open the door?”

Tyrell, looking pitiful, told them he was an orphan, that we used to help him, and now he had nowhere else to go but our place.

Hearing that, the neighbors started knocking on our door too.

“Come on, Finch, the kid’s in bad shape. Let him stay the night, yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s not like he’s a stranger. He’s just a kid, came all the way here in the middle of the night. You’ve helped him before—what’s one more time?”

“You just got a new car. Taking in an orphan won’t cost you much. Just open the door and take him in already—it’s late. Don’t cause a scene.”

I knew I couldn’t dodge this, so I opened the door.

Tyrell collapsed to the ground, covered in blood.

The second he saw me, he dragged himself over and latched onto my leg.

“Sir! I finally found you—please, you gotta save me!

“They didn’t adopt me out of kindness. They just wanted someone for their mentally disabled son to beat on! When I said no, they started hittin’ me, cussin’ me out… wouldn’t even let me eat!

“If I ain’t run fast enough, they’re gonna drag me into that guy’s room and let him do whatever he wants to me…”

He cried like the world was ending.

The neighbors around us were already stirred up, and now they were full of sympathy.

“In a state of law, people like that still exist? What kind of monsters are they?”

“You and your wife are good folks, Finch. You volunteer at the orphanage every week. Why not take the kid in for real? You’re a company exec, right? It’s not like you can’t afford to feed one more mouth.”

“Exactly. You only have one kid—raising two’s just as easy. He came all this way to find you. That’s fate, man. Don’t turn him away. Poor kid.”

Cecily was clearly moved.

But she wouldn’t say yes unless I gave the nod.

I took the phone from her and dialed 911.

“Tyrell, it’s not that I don’t want to help you. But the adoption’s already been processed. If I take you back now, that’s illegal. You don’t want me getting falsely accused of kidnapping, right?

“The cops will investigate. If your adoptive parents really did something wrong, the adoption won’t hold. You’ll be back in the orphanage, safe. Trust me.”

He looked at me with pure hatred, but I didn’t flinch.

I reported everything to the cops.

The neighbors, seeing the issue was handled, went back to their homes.

Cecily didn’t have memories of our past life, so I didn’t want her getting soft on Tyrell.

I decided to take him to the station myself.

Before I left, I saw my son hiding in the room, scared.

I told Cecily to stay and comfort him.

Then I took Tyrell into the elevator.

On the way, he kept up the act—crying, begging me to adopt him, as if the whole world but our family was out to get him.

But I stayed quiet, just politely brushing him off.

By the time we finished the report, it was already six in the morning.

Tyrell stayed at the police department, waiting for his adoptive parents to pick him up.

I finally made it back home.

Relief hit me like a truck—I was sweating cold.

I knew, without a doubt, that this kid had his eyes on us.

‘We can’t stay here anymore…’

I spent the entire day selling the house and prepping to move.

But even that was too late.

At six in the afternoon, I got a call from my son’s homeroom teacher.

“Mr. Lyttleton, why wasn’t Alfie at school today? Is he sick? You didn’t call to excuse him.”