My Child, His Sin

The morning market in the east of the city was always noisy. I pushed my pancake stall and stopped at the usual spot. Five-year-old Daniel set his little stool down and obediently sat beside me. "Mom, I'll help you pass the bag." Daniel's voice was soft, like morning dew. I ruffled his hair and quickly started the fire with nimble hands. The batter hit the griddle, sizzling loudly. Customers lined up in a long queue, their calls for orders rising one after another. I was flustered, my attention pulled away by Daniel. By the time I smelled the burning, it was already too late. "What are you doing?" The middle-aged man slammed the burnt pancake onto the stall. "Is this even edible? I want a refund!" All eyes turned toward me, my cheeks burning hot. Flustered, I apologized and tried to make another one. The man was relentless, his voice growing louder. Daniel shrank back behind me, terrified. I shielded Daniel, my heart pounding with anxiety and panic. A ten-dollar bill was suddenly shoved in front of the man. "I'm buying this pancake." The deep voice was like an ice cube dropped into boiling water. My whole body went stiff; I didn't dare look up. That voice was etched deep into my bones—I could never forget it. The man took the money, muttering as he walked away. A shadow fell over me, and I was forced to look up. Richard Hawthorn stood in front of the stall, dressed in a suit and tie—completely out of place at the morning market. He was taller than he'd been three years ago, with a colder hardness in his eyes. His gaze swept past me and finally landed on Daniel. Daniel looked at him timidly, his big eyes full of curiosity. Richard's pupils suddenly contracted, his breathing becoming erratic. "Who is he?" His voice was tight, trembling just beneath the surface. I pulled Daniel behind me, expressionless. "My child." "Your child?" Richard Hawthorn stepped forward, his presence commanding. "Penny Franklin, were you already pregnant before you went to prison three years ago?" The question stabbed at my old wounds like a needle. I sneered coldly and turned to pack up my stall. "Mr. Hawthorn, this has nothing to do with you." "Nothing to do with me?" He grabbed my wrist so hard it felt like he might crush the bones. "Penny, look at me!" I struggled to pull away, my wrist turning red. Daniel started crying in fear: "Mom!" I immediately picked up Daniel and soothed him gently. Richard Hawthorn's gaze flickered between me and Daniel. Daniel's features looked so much like his. "He's my son, isn't he?" His voice was desperate, tinged with anger. "Why didn't you tell me? Why did you let him suffer by staying with you?" "Suffer?" I finally looked up, my eyes cold and hard. "Richard Hawthorn, do you have the right to say that?" Memories rushed in like a tide, thick with the smell of blood. "Three years ago, who was it that was tangled up with Irene Wilson while I was carrying your child?" Richard Hawthorn's face went pale in an instant. "Who told her to send me photos of your bed?" My voice trembled, and a familiar dull ache spread across my chest. "The day I saw those photos, I nearly died from heavy bleeding at the hospital. Where were you?" "You were with Irene, weren't you?" Richard Hawthorn opened his mouth, trying to say something. I didn't give him the chance and kept speaking. "Do you think I want Daniel with me?" "If you hadn't been so ruthless back then, how would I have ended up like this today?" His eyes were filled with a complicated mix of shock, guilt, and confusion. "I didn't..." "Didn't what?" I cut him off, my emotions flaring. "Didn't indulge Irene? Or didn't just stand by and watch me get sent to prison?"