Replaced by the Mistress's Son

That afternoon, sunlight poured through the living room's floor-to-ceiling window, casting a warm glow on the fruit plate on the coffee table, the orange's skin shining softly. I was just looking down, peeling an apple for my son Robbie, when suddenly my phone rang. It was an unfamiliar landline number. After I answered, a warm voice with a hint of excitement said they were the assistant to Director Spike, a well-known international filmmaker. I froze for a moment, the knife hanging in mid-air, and instinctively asked what it was about. The assistant explained that Director Spike was preparing an action film and needed a child lead with a specific image. They had spotted Robbie a while ago at a kids' martial arts competition and wanted to invite him to audition. When I heard the news, my heart leapt, and I was so surprised I almost dropped the apple knife. I quickly said thank you and promised I would definitely take Robbie there. After hanging up, I spun around holding Robbie. He laughed, his eyes squeezed into a slit, saying he wanted to fight the bad guys just like the heroes on TV. That night, when my husband Sigmund Hamilton came home, I couldn't wait to tell him the good news—I wanted to share this joy with him. But Sigmund just gave a casual "Oh," took off his coat, and tossed it onto the sofa, his face showing no hint of excitement. I was a bit confused, so I asked him what was wrong, if he was unhappy. Sigmund Hamilton sat on the sofa, aimlessly flipping through channels with the remote. After a while, he said, "Robbie has ADHD; he's not cut out to be an actor. He definitely can't sit still in front of the camera." I was stunned. Robbie was just a bit more lively than other kids—how could that be ADHD? When we took him to the hospital before, the doctors said he was perfectly normal. I argued with Sigmund, saying this was such a great opportunity and we couldn't let this baseless excuse hold Robbie back. Sigmund was so stubborn, insisting he was doing it for Robbie's own good, and said he had already arranged a correctional school, planning to send Robbie there for treatment tomorrow. I thought he was just angry and saying things he didn't mean, so I didn't take it seriously. But to my shock, the next morning when I woke up, Robbie was gone. I panicked and searched everywhere but couldn't find him. When I asked Sigmund, he coldly told me he had already sent Robbie to the correctional school, saying they had professional electroshock therapy that could cure Robbie's ADHD. I was trembling with rage as I stormed over, grabbed his collar, and demanded to know why he hadn't talked to me and why he would do this to Robbie. Sigmund shoved me aside, saying he was Robbie's father and had the right to make decisions. He told me not to make a fuss. In the following days, I kept trying to get in touch with Robbie. But Sigmund always came up with excuses, saying it wasn't convenient to visit during treatment and refused to tell me the school's address. I was anxious and heartbroken, but there was nothing I could do. That night, restless and unable to sleep, I grabbed my phone and scrolled through social media, accidentally clicking on Sigmund's assistant Miranda's account. Miranda rarely posted updates, but today she shared something, along with a few photos. In the first photo, Miranda Thompson's son Jasper is dressed in an exquisite costume, standing next to Director Spike, smiling happily. The second photo shows Jasper filming a scene on set, surrounded by numerous crew members. Under the third photo, Miranda wrote: "Thanks to Mr. Hamilton for giving Jasper the chance to get such a great role. He'll definitely work even harder in the future!"