Michael Bolton quickly forced a smile and said gently in the softest voice, “Auntie, don’t be afraid, I’m Michael Bolton! Don’t you remember me? When I was little, I used to come to your house and play all the time!”

Steven Harris’s mother still frowned, carefully sizing up Michael Bolton from head to toe, but the suspicion and wariness on her face only deepened. She turned her head and shouted, “Honey!”

At her call, a sturdy middle-aged man came out from the inner room, walked to the doorway, and stood behind his wife. “What’s wrong?”

Steven Harris’s mother grabbed her husband’s hand. “This young man came to our door, saying he’s looking for someone named Steven Harris, and claims he knows both of us, that he used to come over and play. Do you know him?”

Looking at the man, Michael Bolton felt even more certain. That was exactly what Steven Harris’s father looked like—there was no mistake.

But… why did they have no memory of their own son’s name?!

Chapter 5 Only Child

Michael Bolton took a deep breath and spoke earnestly to the couple in front of him. “Uncle, I’m your son’s classmate. My name is Michael Bolton. I’ve been in the same class as Steven Harris from elementary school, to middle school, to high school. I’ve come to your house to play many times since then. I came this time only because I suddenly couldn’t find him, so I wanted to ask you, uncle and auntie.”

After speaking, Michael Bolton looked at Steven Harris’s parents with clear eyes, waiting for their answer.

Steven Harris’s father looked at Michael Bolton’s serious expression, and his initial impatience gradually faded. “The Steven Harris you’re talking about—is he my son?”

“Yes! Uncle, auntie, you… don’t tell me you don’t remember him either!” Michael Bolton waited nervously for his answer.

Steven Harris’s father shook his head. “Sorry, but you must be mistaken. My surname is indeed Ling, but my wife and I have been married for many years and have never had any children.”

Michael Bolton felt as if he’d been struck by lightning, staring at Steven Harris’s father in disbelief. “Th-this is impossible!”

Although Steven Harris’s father knew he had never had a son, for some reason, a strange thought arose in his mind—this young man wasn’t a liar or a madman; he truly seemed to be searching for his classmate, his son.

“You say… you were classmates with my son?” Speaking of this nonexistent son, Steven Harris’s father couldn’t help but feel a sense of absurdity. “Then tell me, what kind of person was he?”

Hope flickered in Michael Bolton’s heart again. “Steven Harris… he’s been in my class since elementary school…”

Standing at the door, Michael Bolton recounted every detail of his and Steven Harris’s years growing up together, even recalling some specifics from his visits to their home. The more Michael Bolton spoke, the more shocked Steven Harris’s parents became.

This young man in front of them was clearly someone they had never met, yet when he spoke of things in their home, he was spot on, as if he had truly lived there.

“Auntie, your best dishes are sweet and sour ribs and crucian carp milk soup. Every time I came, I ate the most of those. And uncle, you—you always smoke only Huanghelou cigarettes, if I’m not mistaken.” After finishing, Michael Bolton looked up sincerely at Steven Harris’s parents.

The two exchanged glances, seeing fear in each other’s eyes. As for the nonexistent son, they couldn’t tell if what he said was true or not. But their own habits—he hadn’t gotten a single thing wrong.

“Sorry.” Steven Harris’s father let out a long sigh. “But… we really have never had a son.”

“I’m sorry for bothering you…” Michael Bolton lowered his head in dejection, apologized to the couple, then turned and walked step by step down the stairs.

Behind him, Steven Harris’s parents watched his departing figure, equally puzzled and bewildered.

Steven Harris’s mother turned to her husband, hesitantly asking, “Did we… really ever have a son?”

But as soon as she spoke, she knew it was impossible, and shook her head with a bitter smile. “If only we really could have had a son, how wonderful that would be…”

Michael Bolton walked out of the stairwell in a daze. Even though it was still hot outside, he felt as if he’d fallen into an ice cave. He had considered the possibility that Steven Harris’s parents might not remember him either, but he had still held onto a sliver of hope.

But now…

Michael Bolton numbly hailed a cab and went home, collapsing straight into bed. When he woke up, he found that it was already getting dark outside.

Michael Bolton got up and found that his mother was almost done in the kitchen, with several dishes already set on the table.

“Xiaoyu, you’re up? I saw you were sleeping earlier, so I didn’t wake you. Just in time for dinner. Go wash your hands first!”

Michael Bolton responded, then ate dinner with his parents, but his mind was still consumed by that enormous mystery—he didn’t even know what he was eating. He barely heard any of the topics his parents brought up at the table, only responding with a few absent-minded grunts. After dinner, he hurriedly put down his bowl and chopsticks and rushed back to his room.