Back to the Night I Lost My Son

The evening breeze on the 15th of February carried a sweet, sticky scent of sugar, lifting the wisps of hair on my forehead. I held Arthur's little hand; he was only two years old, and his chubby palm was warm in mine. This year's Lantern Festival was livelier than ever, with red lanterns stringed along the street like a river of stars, making Arthur's eyes sparkle. "Mom, candy." He looked up with a little face, pointing at the candy painting stall by the roadside in a childish voice. I smiled and nodded, about to bend down to pick him up, when out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a familiar figure not far away. It was Frankie Locke, my husband. He used to be a champion on the athletics field, tall and proud, carrying a dazzling aura wherever he went. But at this moment, that aura felt like nothing but a sharp sting to my eyes. Last lifetime, on a day just like this, it was also the Lantern Festival. Arthur was fussing for candy painting; while I turned around to get the money, he disappeared. I screamed hysterically, searching everywhere, only to see Frankie Locke supporting a woman with a twisted ankle. That woman was Melinda Sullivan; later, I discovered she and Frankie Locke were old acquaintances. I rushed over and grabbed Frankie Locke, pleading with him to help me find our son quickly. He frowned and said Melinda's injury was severe, telling me to search on my own first; he would come after taking Melinda to get help. It was this short delay of barely over ten minutes that made everything too late. We searched for Arthur for three long years, and finally, in an abandoned dry well on the outskirts of town, we found his tiny remains. At that moment, my world completely shattered. I held that pile of cold bones, questioning Frankie Locke why he didn't save our son first. He shouted back at me with righteous indignation, saying I was being unreasonable and that I hadn't looked after our son properly. He said Melinda Sullivan was in too much pain to stand and that he couldn't ignore her. But he forgot that Arthur was his biological son—someone more important than anyone else. In the days that followed, I lived in endless pain and resentment. I hated the human trafficker, hated Melinda Sullivan, and hated Frankie Locke's coldness and favoritism even more. I often wake up in the middle of the night, dreaming of Arthur crying out for mom, reaching out but grasping at nothing. Until that day, when I fainted in tears before Arthur's small grave, and when I opened my eyes again, I found myself back at the Lantern Festival. "Mom?" Arthur's voice pulled me back from my thoughts. I snapped back to reality and looked down into his clear eyes; my heart clenched suddenly. It was not a dream—Arthur was still by my side. I knelt down and held him tightly, clutching him so fiercely I almost crushed him into my arms. "Arthur, don't be afraid, I'm here." My voice trembled uncontrollably. Arthur was a little dazed in my arms, obediently resting on my shoulder, his small hand gently patting my back. At that moment, the crowd suddenly stirred. Someone shouted, "What's the rush?" as something shattered with a sharp crash. It was exactly the same scene as in my past life. In my past life, my first reaction was to pull Arthur toward Frankie Locke, believing he would protect us. But this time, I will never depend on him again. I quickly lifted Arthur and headed toward a less crowded alley. Arthur giggled in my arms, thinking I was playing a game with him. But I didn't dare let my guard down for a moment, my eyes scanning the surroundings warily. I remember that human trafficker strikes when the crowd is in disorder. He wore a dark jacket and a hat, deliberately bumped into me, then took the opportunity to grab Arthur. Sure enough, just as I reached the alley entrance, a figure hurried toward me.