"Stop fuzzing." He crossed his arms across his chest and pouted while he sat comfortably on his hospital bed. "Didn’t you hear the doctors? I’m not sick anymore." Acting as if he hadn’t just undergone a major surgery.

Nonetheless, it had been days. He already felt stronger than ever. Honestly, he could not wait to fully recover and do the things that he had not done before because of his health limitations.

"The doctors also said it would take time before you are fully healed." Again, his father was being overly cautious.

Although he still had some pain in his chest, he was not going to admit that to his father. He knew his father would only overreact and treat him like a sickly kid again. He didn’t like that.

For a mafia boss who dealt with risk and danger every day, his father never gambled with his life. Of course, he appreciated that. He loved him for it. But there were times when he felt suffocated. It was as if he lived inside a bubble wrap, unable to move freely or even breathe.

"I’m fine, Dad. Don’t you see? I even gained some muscles." He lifted his arms in the air and squeezed his biceps, showing off that he had finally recovered his strength.

Since regaining consciousness, his appetite had improved considerably. With the encouragement of Sophia, he had even eaten the food that he had never liked before.

"And I’m definitely not a baby, Dad." He irritatedly glared at his father, who wouldn’t stop buzzing around him like a busy bee. "You’re even worse than Mom and Grandma." He complained, refusing to lie down and go to sleep.

Since his mother left to shower and change, his father had been nonstop. Calling the nurses and the doctors every time he so much as coughed or hinted at a slight pain.

He was neither hungry nor sleepy. In truth, he was bored to his wits. He was tired of watching movies, playing with his tablet, or just staying in the hospital.

"Well, you’re worse than your grandfather." Oliver compared him to his old man, who was just as stubborn as he was. But he guessed that headstrong and wilful attitude just ran through the Morton genes.

There was no arguing with that. He knew the temper of his grandfather and father. Three generations of the Morton legacy. They said he was going to be the best of them yet.

He was five, going six. He couldn’t care about that yet.

At that moment, he just wanted one thing. "I want to go home, Dad." He grumbled and sighed heavily, expressing his extreme frustration.

He missed his room. To lie in his own bed at night. He wanted to go play outside, under the sun. To breathe fresh air.

He liked to see Kenji, his dog, whom he had not seen since his surgery.

"Okay, I will talk to the doctors." Finally, Oliver had relented. "But promise that you’ll follow everything the doctors say."

Of course, he swore, even doing a pinky swear with his father. As they said, a Morton promise was unbreakable.

For the next hour, his father tried to compromise with him. His father took out a deck of cards and taught him how to play lucky nine.

It wasn’t really that difficult since he had always been a math wizard for his age. Adding basic numbers from one to ten was a piece of cake.

Soon, he was beating his father left and right.

"You now owe me..." He tried adding, but it was just too many to fit in his fingers. "Twenty bucks." He just guessed.

Then, he noticed that his father had kept glancing at his phone even though it hadn’t even been ringing.

"It’s just fifteen." His father corrected him after he put his phone back into his pocket. "But I think your beginner’s luck is about to run out."

"What’s beginner’s luck?" He asked, suddenly curious about the new terminology.

Oliver tried hard to explain to him what it meant. In a way, he understood it. But still, "Why would it run out?" He asked, confused about how the world worked.

"Did your luck with Mom also run out?" He suddenly asked. "Did you do something to piss her off?" He stared at his father with his innocent doe eyes, wondering why adults kept messing up.

He might be a sickly kid, but he had seen too many movies not to understand what was happening around him.

His father was taken aback by his question as he was left speechless for a brief moment. When his father spoke up, he sounded a little guilty.

"Yeah, I kinda did," Oliver admitted with a weak smile. "But you don’t have to worry about any of that. That’s grown-up staff."

His father put away the cards as a few nurses came into the room to check on his vitals. After the nurses left, he took his father’s hand and whispered something to his ear.

"Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll help you with Mom." Then, he patted his father on the shoulder as if that should put him at ease.

"Well, if you help me with your Mom, I’ll work on your discharge from this hospital." In the end, they shook hands and made a deal.

A few minutes later, without needing any convincing, he also fell into sleep, as exhaustion claimed his body.

A while later, he woke up to the sound of someone loudly talking. He had no idea how much time had passed, but that familiar voice was really annoying.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, slightly blinded by the bright light. But once his eyes adjusted to the room, he saw no one was around.

"He is my son. Why can’t I see him?" Then, he realized the voice was coming from somewhere outside the room.

Of course, he already knew who was making such a scene. His mother. What was she doing?

Suddenly, his fear came back. What if she were here to take him?

"As of now, Caleb is sleeping. Maybe you should come back later when Oliver is here." That was his Mom’s voice. Sophia. He easily recognized the difference between his biological mother’s voice and the mother who truly cared for him.

Why couldn’t God just make Sophia his mother? So that Hazel could stop harassing him.

"Who are you to prevent me from seeing my son?" Again, Hazel insisted as the door rattled.

But he could only assume that Sophia was keeping that woman out of his room since the door didn’t open.

"I’m just saying that Caleb needs his rest right now. If you truly care for him, you won’t make all this noise and disturb him." Sophia’s voice was calm compared to Hazel’s as she tried to reason with her.

All he could do was clutch his bedsheet tighter against his body, hoping that Sophia could prevent his mother from entering his room.

"I know what you’re doing. But you’re not going to get away with it." Hazel’s angry voice reverberated through the closed door. The threat was something he had easily recognized.

"I’m not doing anything." Sophia still remained neutral, but it was a tone that did not cower to anyone. "But if you don’t go, I’ll have no choice but to call security."

In that instant, he sighed. Relieved.

"That’s my Mom." He silently mumbled.

He didn’t make the mistake when he chose her to be his mother.

"This is not over. Far from over. Sophia Maddison." He still heard his mother saying her last words. "Enjoy this moment, because it is about to end soon."

What did his mother mean by that? Was his mother planning something to ruin Sophia? Was his mother going to take him away from his family?

Then, that was the last thing he heard before the door finally opened, revealing Sophia on the other side.

Physically, his mother looked fine, but her eyes carried something, a heaviness that he could not explain. Was she about to cry? Was she afraid of something?

"Hey, you’re awake." His mother appeared stunned to see him. Or was it likely concerned? "Did you hear that?" She pointed to the door as she approached his bed.

He wished he could say no, but he didn’t want to lie. "Yeah, that’s Mom, right?" But even if she didn’t answer, he already knew it was her.

"She was just worried about you and wanted to see you." Sophia tried to explain. "Eventually, you will have to see her. She is still your mother."

That was all everyone said. She was his mother. As if he never had a choice.

"But why can’t you be just my Mom?" He asked, suddenly feeling down and desperate. "I don’t want her or anyone else."

Sophia slowly walked toward him until she leaned over the bed. Then, she enveloped him in her warm embrace, cradling his thin body against her chest.

"I wish that life could be that simple. I also wish you were my real son. But like it or not, Hazel will always be a part of your life." Sophia gently told him the sad truth.

"But as long as I’m here, no one can hurt you. How about that?" She promised as she tightened her hold on him, as if she were never letting him go.

"I like the sound of that." He readily agreed with her, satisfied with their new arrangement.

For a few more minutes, he buried himself under her maternal protection, savoring in her warmth against the cold temperature of the air conditioning.

But after a while, he tilted his head and gazed into her lovely, kind eyes. "Mom..." He called to her until she looked down. "Who’s Amelia Clarke?"