I liquidated the stocks in my personal investment account and finally scraped the money together.
Thank God, Noah was back, and he was safe. If anything had happened to him, I would never have forgiven myself.
At the clinic, a psychologist conducted a thorough evaluation. The results showed that aside from mild dehydration, he was physically fine. The real damage was invisible: the psychologist diagnosed him with severe trauma from the ordeal, which had triggered acute anxiety and a stutter.
"What your son needs most right now is a profound sense of security and love," the psychologist said gently. "You should spend as much time with him as possible, create a warm and stable environment, and consider regular therapy sessions to give him the support he needs to process this."
I held Noah's small, cold hand and nodded firmly. "I understand. Thank you, doctor."
As we left the clinic, I saw Curtis's car parked at the curb. He was leaning against the door, watching us with an unreadable expression.
I lifted Noah into my arms and walked straight toward him.
"What did the doctor say?" Curtis asked, his tone still laced with impatience.
I replied calmly, "Physically, he's fine. But he's severely traumatized. The doctor diagnosed him with anxiety and a stutter and recommended long-term therapy."
Curtis scoffed. "Therapy? Don't be ridiculous. It's a waste of money."
I took a deep breath, trying to cage the rage in my heart. "Curtis, what Noah needs most right now is our care and support. If you're not willing to help with his treatment, then at the very least, don't stand in the way."
He sneered. "And who are you to tell me? Noah is my son. I'll decide what he needs."
I held Noah tighter and looked Curtis straight in the eye. "Oh, really? Then where were you? Why didn't you go save him? Why did you let him endure that terror alone? Was it all because he made Maya cry?"
Curtis's face tightened, his voice growing colder. "You don't understand anything. It was a lesson!"
I shook my head, my heart aching with sorrow. "No, Curtis. That wasn't a lesson; it was cruelty. What kind of father subjects his own child to that kind of horror just to make a point?"
He fell silent, the accusation landing for a brief moment, but his familiar, condescending mask quickly snapped back into place. "Enough. Stop making a scene in the street. Get in the car. We'll talk at home."
I got into the car, holding Noah protectively on my lap.
The silence in the car on the way home was so thick it felt hard to breathe.
