Chapter 3
536 Words
A few minutes later, officers from the local police precinct arrived at the classroom.
The parents complained to the officers one after another, and some held up their phones to record everything. They described me as emotional, cold, paranoid, domineering, and completely indifferent to my child's education.
Some even treated their videos as evidence against me.
Clips from the classroom had already spread on a local community forum, and the comments were all attacking me for being an unreasonable mother.
After getting a basic idea of what seemed to have happened, the responding officer tried to counsel me patiently.
"Ma'am, educating a child requires communication. You can't refuse to raise your own child out of anger. Family conflicts should be discussed privately. Please don't escalate the situation in public."
The moment the officer finished speaking, the boy pretending to be Owen rushed to his side, clutched the edge of his uniform, and squeezed out tears.
His performance was flawless. He looked sensible, pitiful, and painfully considerate.
"Officer, please don't blame my mom. My dad is away from home all the time, and Mom has been in a bad mood lately. Even if she doesn't want me anymore, I don't want anyone to criticize her. Please don't punish my mom."
That made everyone even more certain that I was an unfit mother with a messy private life.
The parents watching from the side sighed again and again. When they looked at me, their eyes were full of disgust.
The female officer gently comforted the child.
"What a considerate boy. Ma'am, look how understanding your child is. Conflicts can be talked through. Children sometimes say the wrong thing without meaning any harm. There's no need to make this such a serious matter."
The boy pretending to be Owen lowered his head and wiped his tears. His voice sounded small, but it was clearly loud enough for everyone to hear.
"I'm not making it up, Officer. A lot of men really do come to our house every night. It's so noisy that I can't study. I just want the house to be quiet."
The officers' expressions grew serious. They turned to me to verify what was happening at home.
"Your husband is away on business for long periods? Do male visitors often come to your home?"
Before I could answer, the child volunteered a list.
"There's Mr. Parker from the convenience store downstairs, Mr. Walker from the farm, Mr. Grant from the market, and lots of other strange men."
The officers' expressions darkened, and the mood in the room turned completely against me.
Everyone had decided that I had a chaotic private life, that I was taking my anger out on the child, and that I was causing an unreasonable scene at the parent-teacher conference.
I looked at this carefully staged performance and finally spoke.
"Officers, I'll cooperate and go back to the police precinct to give a formal statement. But before we leave, I want to file a report."
Everyone froze.
"What report are you filing?"
I lifted my hand and pointed at the so-called son beside me. Every word came out clear and steady.
"This child isn't my biological son. I suspect my child was deliberately switched."
- Writer
