My son, Noah, went missing in the mountains and had not been found to this day.
My husband, Samuel Brown, known as “Teacher of the Year” who had touched the whole country and had been teaching here for five years, mobilized the entire village to search for three days and three nights.
He finally said to me with red eyes, “Myra, the mountains are too big. We may have to be prepared for the worst. I can't give up. There are still dozens of children waiting for me to teach them.”
His exhausted appearance broke my heart and I thought he was just hiding his sorrow.
Until one day, a young female volunteer who had recently arrived in town posted a teaching diary on her social media account.
The diary, accompanied by photos, documented the “touching moments” she shared with my husband during home visits.
[Mr. Brown said that sometimes loss is also a form of protection. To protect more children in the mountains, he had to sacrifice his own family. I feel so sorry for him.]
In the photos, one showed her gazing deeply at Samuel's back and the other showed Samuel putting new shoes on a boy.
That boy was wearing the same clothes my son was wearing on the day he went missing.
On Samuel's wrist is a colorful bracelet made by the female volunteer.
[Mr. Brown promised me that after this semester ends, he'll take me out of the mountains.]
My blood ran cold.
I mustered all my strength to leave a comment under the article:
[Wearing my son's clothes and running off with another woman, Mr. Brown, do you deserve the title of “Teacher of the Year”?]
On the phone, Samuel’s voice was filled with anger, “Have you lost your mind?”
“Lucy is a good girl. She genuinely wants to help the children. Don’t slander her with your filthy thoughts!”
“I warn you, delete that comment immediately, or we’re finished!”
——
I held the phone, listening to his furious outbursts, yet I felt no pain.
Only numbness.
This tone—I was all too familiar with it.
My son, Noah, went missing in the afternoon.
I cried and wanted to go search the back mountain, but Samuel used this same righteous tone to stop me.
“Myra, go back to the city first. I'll handle this here. Staying here will only cause trouble and hinder the search efforts. You must trust me and think of everyone else.”
“For everyone’s sake”—that phrase again.
I looked at the article posted by the female volunteer named Lucy on the screen.
[Mr. Brown promised me that after this semester ends, he’ll take me away from the mountains.]
Every word declared their future.
A future without me and my son.
I hung up the phone calmly.
Then I blocked all of Samuel’s contact information.
Social media, phone, even the bank account I once used to transfer money to him.
After doing all this, I reopened that Facebook official account article.
My comment, which had been replied to by countless people, was still at the top.
[Wearing my son's clothes and running off with another woman, Mr. Brown, do you deserve the title of “Teacher of the Year”?]
I didn't delete it. I took a screenshot, instead.
I opened my social media and edited it.
“My son, Noah, 1.1 meters tall, went missing on August 5th in the Summit Peak area. He was wearing a blue Ultraman jacket at the time of his disappearance. Anyone with information is urged to come forward. A reward of $10000 will be offered. Contact number: 19724567892.”
I stood up, poured myself a glass of iced water and drank it in one gulp.
Then I called Conrad Smith, the director of my foundation.
