She ran through countless streets as if she were in a frenzy.
Mark hugged her from behind.
âCecilia.
â
Cecilia gazed at Mark and said in a trembling voice, âThereâs one place I havenât checked.
He must be there.
He must be.
â
They got back into the car.
Half an hour later, the car came to a stop in a dark, narrow alley.
The concrete was pocked with holes.
The electric lines crisscrossed like spider webs.
The dilapidated buildingâs walls seemed as though they could collapse at any moment.
Markâs heart ached.
Had Cecilia and Edwin been living here for two years while he wasnât even aware of the existence of his own son?
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The corridor was pitch dark, and mice scurried about, but Cecilia seemed oblivious as she sprinted to the fourth floor.
In the darkness, a small figure sat on the floor outside an apartment.
It was the place where Cecilia and Edwin used to Live.
The child sat there, head drooped as if asleep.
Cecilia, her voice trembling, called out, âEdwin?â
The child didnât respond.
Cecilia squatted and gently touched his head.
It was burning.
âHeâs got a fever!â Her voice wavered.
In a rush, Mark scooped up his son and felt the heat radiating from Edwinâs forehead.
âWe should get him to the hospital.
â
He hurried downstairs, and Cecilia followed.
Half an hour later, Edwin lay on a small bed with an IV drip attached to the back of his hand.
The doctor explained that Edwin had caught a cold, hadnât eaten for a while, and had imbalanced electrolytes.