The Abandoned Child - Part 2

Seventeen Years Ago

Right after abandoning the child,

Mogu Village, at the foot of Mount Shijing

Dorian sat there,

a statue carved from despair—doing nothing.

His jaw tightened—a muscle throbbing,

as he tried to bottle the sorrow,

and emptiness that threatened to consume him.

At first, his breath came in and out,

his chest bobbing like a buoy on a violent sea.

He didn’t hear the ceaseless drumming of the rain on the car’s metal shell,

nor the frantic groan of the wipers.

Only the baby’s distant cry echoed in the hollow chamber of his mind.

Those innocent, trembling fingers wrapped around Clara’s.

So small.

So full of the hope and trust that tiny heart could muster.

Only to be engulfed by the darkness under that heavy blanket.

The very people the child could ever trust in this vast,

wretched world—the mother and father—had cast him out.

Yet—he whimpered, a low, guttural sound,

lost beneath the incessant noise of rain hammering on the metal…

And the wipers—failing miserably.

Each pass ended in a dull—

Thunk.

The motor groaned—

Ka-thunk...

judder—judder...

as if the wipers themselves were losing hope,

giving up the fight.

It was almost hypnotic, this rhythm of decay.

Dorian’s eyes remained wide,

burning from within,

unshed tears gathering and blurring his vision.

He didn’t blink,

and silent tears flowed—tracing cold paths down his face,

indistinguishable from the rain outside.

He watched the blades drag across the glass:

left to right…

right to left…

Like a pendulum.

Like the ticking hand of a metronome.

Marking seconds.

Marking failure.

Marking time running out.

Tick...

thunk...

Tock...

judder...

But he didn’t move. None of them moved.

What they had done today—

it might remain a secret to the world forever.

But every ounce of their existence,

every fiber of their being,

would know it.

The cold,

stale air inside the car felt suffocating,

pressing in on him.

I wish I would die now…

what is the meaning of this life…?

Dorian wanted to shake the world with the weight of his grief.

He wished he could destroy everything,

and then himself…

But—he couldn’t move.

The rain outside became heavier,

duller,

a blurred sheet beyond the glass.

The world smeared into formless shadows.

And Dorian—he was sinking.

Deeper.

Motionless.

Only the rhythm remained.

Clara sat just like Dorian,

her face a mask of stone.

She didn’t know if she had the right to claim herself human.

No, I don’t have it… I can’t…

She dug her nails deeper into her flesh,

pressing until the pain shouted its gut out—a searing fire.

It was bleeding now,

dark crimson blossoming on her pale skin.

She tried to rip her own flesh,

but the agony was too great,

activating her body’s primal safety mechanism.

Her hands automatically stopped,

the moment the pain declared itself to her nervous system.

Unlike Dorian,

she wasn’t remorseful—or she had been telling herself that.

But that fresh wound spoke otherwise. A silent accusation.

It’s for better…

everything will be alright…

that thing is gone… and everything should be going back to their original place…

Me to my house… my dad…

Dorian to his family… with head high…

back to his wealth and status that I have been after…

Now, everything I wished for, should come true…

The hard part of it was gone.

She still remembered that terrifying day—

the moment she first learned she was pregnant.

She had already chosen this child once,

even when death came knocking.

But in the end…

it hadn’t been enough.

The conversation remained vivid in her memory,

sometimes pulling her back—to a year ago.

A Year Ago: Rural Clinic of Zuiyou Town,

in Shenzhou Province — Dr. Lan Fuyuan’s Office,

2000 kilometers away from Ayodale.

Dr. Lan Fuyuan was about to pack her things and go home.

It was late in the evening.

Her replacement usually arrived right around this time,

but today,

Dr. Song Meirong seemed to be late,

and Dr. Lan was late for home as well.

She picked up the phone, dialing her colleague,

but there was no reply.

Suddenly, the red blinker on the intercom glowed, and the system buzzed.

“Yes?” Dr. Lan answered, her voice tired.

“Ma’am, a patient…” the receptionist began hesitantly.

“Tsk, why is Dr. Song Meirong so late today? Have you called her?” Dr. Lan frowned.

“Ma’am, we tried a few times… still trying, but she isn’t responding…”

The receptionist paused for a moment.

“Should I send her in…? Or send away…?”

“What? NO—send her in. I don’t want any complication on my watch.”

Clara, with her baseball hat pulled down,

wearing black tinted big sunglasses,

too big for her face…

sat across from Dr. Lan Fuyuan—

an experienced,

discreet rural gynecologist originally from another province, Emerald.

Dr. Lan was calm, and precise…

She spoke with quiet authority.

Clara, by contrast, was visibly anxious,

fidgeting in the stiff chair.

The doctor glanced at the ultrasound report…

and lab results spread across her desk.

Then what Dr. Lan told her went right over her head…

she couldn't understand a thing…

Just that…She was in a life-threatening danger…

She had been partying one day…and now suddenly she was pregnant…

and now…

How do I process this…?

Clara's shoulders slumped, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I thought I was just sick from stress or something I ate…"

Dr. Lan nodded, her expression empathetic.

"What matters now is your health."

Clara's voice shook as she whispered,

"My father… he’s a famous person. If anyone finds out—"

"This is not about public image. This is about your life," Dr. Lan interjected with quiet precision,

cutting through Clara's rising anxiety.

"You don’t need to tell the world. But you do need to tell someone who can support you through this."

Clara looked down, her fingers digging into her leather purse.

"I lied to him to get out of the city. I thought a few days or weeks will be enough to feel… okay…"

Dr. Lan smiled to give some hope to Clara.

“Tell him the truth this time. Tell him, as a daughter to her father—that you’re in danger, and you need him.”

Clara fidgeted, her reluctance visible,

unwilling even to think of calling that man.

"I, ah… Can I bring my boyfriend in?"

Dr. Lan frowned, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"There is a legal procedure, Ma’am. I can’t allow anyone else… But someone from your

immediate family… Can’t you call your mother?"

Clara was silent, considering the option,

her fingernails digging even deeper now.

"Then I will talk to her, and let you know."

Dr. Lan, still frowning, her face serious,

urged: "Don’t take long… no parent will let their daughter live like this…"

"I’m sure you will find a way… Talk to them… They are your last hope."

Later that night, Clara called home.

After a lot of agonizing thought, she decided to call her dad and tell him her situation.

He will know eventually…it’s better he learns about it first…

if he is suspicious, a man like him has many ways to find out about me…

The phone on the other side rang,

each chime a hammer blow to her already frayed nerves.

After a pause, someone picked up.

“Hello! Who is this?” A man’s voice, sharp and commanding.

Dad!

“I… I am Clara…” she stammered, her voice thin.

“Yes… what’s the hesitation for? Problem… you don’t call unless there is something you need me to solve… cut to the chase… I’m busy…”

This stern voice was what frightened Clara the most.

This man, her dad, never asked for excuses.

He never debated with her;

he just listened as if she were another person in his office,

telling him her problem,

and as the head of the city, he needed to solve it.

And so, he solved it.

He wasn’t her father now; he was the Mayor…

Mayor Malcolm Chen.

She fidgeted, her finger circling the telephone wire,

her grip tightening around the handset as if she were gathering all the courage in the world.

“….”

“If you aren’t gonna talk, I’m hanging up, Clara… You know the election is close…” Malcolm paused for a second, then his voice hardened.

“….”

“Wait… don’t tell me…”

Malcolm’s voice, now serious and laced with anger,

cut through her silence.

“Where are you now?”

“....”

“CLARA… WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU!”

Malcolm shouted, his voice booming down the line.

“Dad! Please… can you not be the mayor for at least once in my life… I’m hurting…” Clara sobbed,

the dam finally breaking.

“What did you do this time? No, don’t talk on the phone… Give me the address, I’m coming…”

After that, it was history.

She did the procedure… and took a year off from the university.

She still remembered her dad’s cold voice, a phantom chill in her ear:

“Don’t come home if you are going to keep that thing inside you… Only you… And I don’t want any trace of that thing coming back to me…”

That haunting voice of his dad still echoed in her mind.

“We should go…”

Dorian’s voice wavered,

thin with guilt and exhaustion,

as he started the car engine,

pulling them away from the wreckage of their choices.

“There’s nothing left behind… and nothing clear ahead.”