Chapter 126: Mr. Ford

Mr. Ford and Mrs. Ford also noticed their grandson was being unusually well-behaved, not as boisterous and playful as he used to be. But they didn’t think much of it, just assuming he was being more reserved in a new, unfamiliar environment.

After all, the overwhelming white of the hospital and the doctors and nurses in their white coats were enough to intimidate any child.

What child isn’t afraid of getting a shot?

So they didn’t think anything was amiss when they saw their now more docile grandson.

Mrs. Ford even turned to Samuel Ford and said, "We should bring him here less often. Your dad’s almost recovered. Once he’s discharged and back home, the boy can come visit us more."

"Okay," Samuel didn’t say much more, simply nodding in agreement.

Worried he might say the wrong thing, Jean rarely initiated conversation. He only answered when spoken to. Fortunately, Mr. Ford and Mrs. Ford weren’t about to grill a child with questions he couldn’t answer. They mostly asked what he had eaten and drunk, and who he had been playing with lately.

He answered these questions with practiced ease; they posed no real challenge.

They didn’t keep him cooped up. The Traditional Chinese Medicine department’s inpatient ward was like a convalescent home with very pleasant surroundings. There was a small garden outside, and Mrs. Ford told him to go out and play for a while.

There were windows with a view of the outside, so they didn’t have to worry about him wandering off.

Jean let out a sigh of relief. Truth be told, he didn’t really want to stay there any longer. These were all Felix Ford’s relatives; a short visit was manageable, but he wasn’t sure he could keep up the act for much longer without them noticing something was off.

He said a quick goodbye and walked out.

Most of the patients who chose Traditional Chinese Medicine were elderly. Jean found a chair and sat down. Before long, an elderly woman sat down next to him. She was video-calling someone on her phone, laughing happily. Judging by their conversation, it was her child on the other end.

Jean sat quietly, lost in thought, when he sensed that the old woman beside him was becoming anxious.

He glanced over and saw her holding a small notepad, apparently trying to write something down. Her eyesight was poor, however, and she couldn’t see well enough to start writing. She glanced around, looking for help, but it was lunchtime and the garden was nearly empty.

The person on the call kept asking if she had written it down yet, making the old woman even more flustered.

"Let me write it for you," Jean offered.

The old woman looked at him. Seeing he was just a little boy, she hesitated.

"I know how to write," Jean added.

With no one else around, she had little choice but to trust him. "Thank you, young man," the old woman said.

"It’s no problem." Jean took the notepad, asked the person on the call to repeat themselves, and then began to write.

The old woman watched, her eyes wide. When she saw that he could indeed write, she finally relaxed.

Jean finished writing quickly, and the old woman thanked him profusely.

"It’s no problem." Jean shook his head, not thinking much of it. When he heard Mrs. Ford calling for him, he waved goodbye to the old woman and headed back to the room.

He didn’t give the small incident another thought, so he failed to notice the man who stepped out from behind a tree after he left.

Samuel Ford walked past the old woman, and his eyes fell upon the words on the page.

Perhaps aware of the old woman’s poor eyesight, the boy had written in large, neat script. It was an address. The words were quite difficult for a child of kindergarten age; Colt, at least, wouldn’t have known how to write them.

And yet, the words on the paper were not only spelled correctly, but the handwriting was immaculate. It looked like the work of a completely different person from the handwriting he had seen on the desk in the boy’s bedroom the other day.

’No, not necessarily two different people. It’s also possible he’s been deliberately imitating Colt’s handwriting to deceive me.’

As he considered this, Samuel’s eyes darkened, and he grew more puzzled. ’Who on earth is this child?’

Once the seed of doubt is planted, it will take root and sprout in the heart.

Ever since he realized this child wasn’t Colt, many things that hadn’t made sense before suddenly clicked into place.

For example, the strange feeling that had been nagging at him recently. Sometimes he felt the child at home was Colt, and other times, he felt he wasn’t.

His gut feeling hadn’t been wrong; he just hadn’t considered this possibility at the time.

Two children: one lively, the other calm; one active, the other quiet; one messy, the other a neat freak. From their daily habits to their personalities, they were vastly different.

’I should have realized it sooner.’

’It was my own carelessness.’

His fists clenched at his sides. Then, remembering something, his expression froze.

’When we did the DNA test... I’m sure the child we tested was this one, not Colt.’

’So, he’s my son too?’

’Twins?’

At this thought, his brow furrowed sharply once more.

When Jean returned to the hospital room, he found someone else was there—a middle-aged man in a suit. He had a friendly smile and an approachable air, and bore a slight resemblance to Mr. Ford.

’Probably a relative of the Ford family.’

Sure enough, Mrs. Ford called out, "Colt, what are you standing there gawking for? Don’t you recognize your great-uncle?"

’Mr. Ford does have a younger brother. This must be him.’

Jean lowered his gaze slightly and murmured a greeting.

The man broke into a smile. He looked Jean up and down and complimented, "Colt’s looking all grown up. So mature now."

Mrs. Ford loved nothing more than hearing her grandson praised. "Isn’t he?" she said, beaming. "I’ve always said Colt is a good boy. He’s become so much more sensible now that he’s getting older."

The memory of people calling her grandson a little monster always displeased her. Her Colt was a wonderful boy.

Jean glanced at the man but said nothing, sighing inwardly. ’With a father who doesn’t discipline him and a grandmother who spoils him, it’s a wonder he isn’t a brat.’

’Fortunately, Felix Ford is just mischievous, not completely off the rails. It’s not a huge problem.’

He sat in his chair, watching Mr. Ford.

He seemed to smile a lot, and he addressed Mr. Ford and Mrs. Ford affectionately as "Brother" and "Sister-in-law." Next to him was a large pile of gifts, all of which he had brought.

The adults chatted amongst themselves, and Jean didn’t interrupt. Out of the corner of his eye, he would occasionally glance at Mr. Ford, feeling that something was off.

Samuel returned to this very scene: the boy was looking thoughtfully at Mr. Ford, his expression a mixture of appraisal and inquiry.

’He’s even smarter than I imagined,’ Samuel thought, one eyebrow raised.

Before Samuel had a chance to speak, Mr. Ford saw him. His eyes lit up as he strode over and clapped Samuel on the shoulder, his own full of approval. "Samuel, you’re getting more and more capable! Brother, you’ve raised a fine son. Now you can finally get some proper rest."

At the mention of his eldest son, Mr. Ford’s eyes filled with satisfaction. "I’m getting old. It’s a young man’s world now."

Mr. Ford shot him a playful look of reproach. "What do you mean, old? You’re not old at all, you’re in your prime! With Samuel running the company now, you and Sister-in-law can just go enjoy yourselves."

It was true. Mr. Ford had handed the reins of the company to Samuel several years ago. He had always been confident in his son’s abilities, and Samuel had certainly never disappointed him.

Mrs. Ford handed him a glass of water, laughing. "However carefree we might be, we could never match you. You spend all your time traveling the world. What brings you back this time?"

Mr. Ford took the glass and took a sip. "Well, I heard my brother’s health was improving, so I came back to take a look."

Hearing this, Jean lifted his gaze and looked at the man again.

Samuel, holding a cup, spoke slowly. "You seem quite concerned about my dad’s condition, Uncle."