Chapter 2

Had they finally realized I wasn't in the car and come back for me?

The door creaked open.

But the person who walked in was a stranger—a man wearing a thick down jacket.

The light in my eyes instantly dimmed. A self-mocking smile tugged at my lips. I was overthinking things again.

The man was clearly surprised to see me.

He probably hadn't expected to find a young boy sitting alone in such a remote rest stop bathroom.

He looked me up and down, his tone gentle as he asked:

"Kid, are you here by yourself? Where are your parents?"

At the mention of my parents, my nose stung. I held back the tears in my eyes, my voice hoarse:

"Sir, my... my parents forgot me here. Could I borrow your phone to call them?"

The man's face filled with sympathy. He immediately pulled out his phone and handed it to me, urging:

"Go ahead, call them. It's freezing out here—we can't have you getting sick."

I took the phone. My fingers were so stiff from the cold that I kept pressing the wrong numbers.

After finally entering my home phone number correctly, I took a deep breath and pressed the call button.

The dial tone rang in my ear, each beep hammering against my heart with anxiety and hope.

But the ringing ended without anyone picking up.

My hand holding the phone trembled slightly. That small spark of hope grew a few degrees colder.

The man beside me spoke softly to comfort me:

"Don't worry. Maybe the signal's bad. Try calling again."

I nodded. My fingertips pressed redial, my ear pressed tightly against the phone as I prayed that this time, I'd hear my parents' voices.

The waiting tone in the receiver felt endlessly long. My breathing rose and fell with each ring.

On the seventh ring, the call finally connected. Mom's voice came through, muffled by wind noise and car music:

"Hello?"

My tense nerves suddenly relaxed. My eyes instantly burned with heat.

All the grievance and fear caught in my throat. My voice was so hoarse it barely sounded human:

"Mom... I didn't get in the car. You forgot me at the rest stop."

The moment I finished speaking, Mom's rebuttal came crashing down on me, her tone full of impatient certainty:

"That's impossible! Before we left, I specifically asked if everyone was here. Marcus and Lily both told me yes. How could we have left you behind?"

The phone went briefly silent. I could imagine Mom turning to look at the back seat.

Those few seconds of silence made my heart colder than the freezing wind.

I thought I'd hear her panic and guilt, but what came instead was sharp accusation:

"What's wrong with you, child? Why didn't you say something earlier if you weren't getting in!"

"Couldn't you have shouted for us then? Why wait until we'd driven far away to call? You're just causing problems!"

The cold blame was like needles, bursting the last bubble of my expectations.

I bit down hard on my lower lip, forcing the tears in my eyes back down, my voice trembling uncontrollably:

"I did shout... I ran after you shouting, but you didn't hear me. The car just turned and drove away."

My defense made Mom pause for a moment. The silence was fleeting before she found another reason to scold me:

"Well, isn't that because you're so slow!"

"I told you to hurry up, but you just dragged your feet. Now we've already passed the toll booth—we can't just turn around on the highway! How are we supposed to come back for you?"

Then Marcus's voice came through the phone, dripping with schadenfreude:

"See? It's his own fault for being so slow! I even tried to rush him, but he had to be all sluggish about it. Now look what happened."

I gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. Anger and hurt swirled in my chest.

He was the one who'd cut in front of me in line, making me wait again. But now he was saying it was my fault.

Next, Lily's childish but cutting voice chimed in, full of spoiled willfulness:

"Mom, Dad, I don't want to go back! I want to hurry to Grandma's and eat chicken drumsticks!"

Just as I was about to break down in tears, Dad's deep voice came through the phone.

His tone held no warmth—just detached arrangements:

"Enough arguing. Your Uncle James is also driving to the old hometown today. He's going the same way as us."

"Just wait at that rest stop. Don't wander around. When he arrives, get in his car and come home."

"But Dad, I don't remember Uncle's car. When will they—"

Before I could finish, the line went dead with a cold dial tone.