"Let Ethan play. He needs to bond with his cousins if he's ever going to fit into this family. It's for his own good."
"You protect him too much. How will he ever get along with his siblings if you coddle him like this?"
"That's not—"
I tried to explain that the child in the suit wasn't my son, but my protests were cut short. My two sisters-in-law flanked me, "supporting" me by the arms. Their smiles were plastered on, polite and strained, but their grip was iron. They dug their fingers into my flesh, dragging me back into the house and shoving me onto the living room sofa.
"Just rest for a bit, Sister-in-law. You're too worked up."
My chest heaved. I wasn't winded from exertion—I was suffocating from terror.
A chilling sense of déjà vu washed over me. These scenes overlapped perfectly with the nightmare of my previous life. The same obstruction. The same dismissive lines.
Forcing myself to breathe, I feigned resignation. Once their guard lowered, I retrieved my phone and typed a message under the cover of my sleeve.
Mom, where are you and Ethan right now?
Seconds later, a reply buzzed. I pressed the speaker to my ear, keeping the volume barely audible.
Ethan's voice, clear and bright, drifted through. "Mom, Grandma and I just got home! Grandma said she's making dumplings for me tonight. When are you coming back?"
Relief hit me so hard I nearly wept.
Thank God. The child inside the horse costume wasn't my son.
But the relief was short-lived. If Ethan was safe at my mother's house, then who was lying in the snow right now?
Through the window, I saw the horse costume swaying violently in the deep drifts. Muffled, desperate cries echoed from within.
"Let go of me! Let me out!"
Diana's son jumped up and down, his face flushed with cruel excitement. "Bury him! Bury him deep!"
The other children swarmed like locusts. They scooped up heavy chunks of snow, piling them onto the horse's back, packing it tight around the legs. The costume struggled, thrashing against the weight, but the movements grew weaker with every passing second.
Even if it wasn't my son, there was a human being inside that suit. My conscience wouldn't let me watch a murder.
"Make them stop! They're burying him alive!"
I bolted from the sofa, but the adults merely chuckled. The atmosphere remained terrifyingly casual.
Aunt Brenda sat in the armchair, cracking sunflower seeds. She spat out a shell and shrugged. "What's the worst that can happen? Kids are just playing. Didn't we all play rough in the snow when we were little?"
Cousin Linda poured a cup of steaming tea and slid it toward me. Her smile was gentle, but her eyes were cold. "Ethan isn't even crying for help, Sarah. Why are you so anxious? Let the boys have their fun."
Margaret walked over and patted my shoulder with heavy, authoritative hands. "Sarah, I'm not trying to lecture you, but boys need to be toughened up. Don't raise him to be so delicate. Look at Derek—he took plenty of falls when he was a child, and look how successful he is now."
Every word struck a nerve. Exactly what they had said in my past life. A script recited verbatim.
Derek sat beside me. He didn't look at the window. Instead, he leaned in, his voice dropping to a low growl. "Sarah, if you keep making a scene, you're going to embarrass me. It's New Year's. Do you really have to make us a joke in front of the relatives?"
I turned to look at my husband. He felt like a stranger.
No worry in his eyes. No fatherly instinct. Only impatience and cold concern for his reputation.
"Aren't you worried?" My voice trembled. "What if something happens? That's your son out there."
Derek scoffed. "You're hysterical. How could anything happen in a pile of snow?"
A chill that had nothing to do with winter settled in my bones.
From Diana dragging me inside, to Aunt Brenda and Cousin Linda blocking my path, to Margaret's lectures, and Derek's suppression—it was too coherent. Too synchronized.
Like a rehearsed play where every actor knew their lines.
They aren't just negligent, I realized. They did this on purpose.
They intended for Ethan to die in that snow.
Outside, the snow continued to fall. The horse doll had stopped moving—a colorful lump buried in a frozen grave.
Diana glanced at the wall clock, then turned toward the window. "The time is about right... You kids come back inside to eat!"
As the children abandoned their game and stampeded toward the house, I seized the opportunity. Ignoring Derek's glare, I scrambled off the sofa and sprinted into the yard.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
Hold on, child. Just hold on.
