The Day My Son Gave Me Poison

For six years, I was Ethan, an auto mechanic who found amnesiac Victoria. We built a life, had our son Liam, and a Texas home. I believed we were a family, forever. That illusion shattered in a Manhattan penthouse. Ice-cold Victoria told me our life was over. Her wealthy mother, Mrs. Sterling, offered ten million dollars and an NDA: sign it, and vanish from their high-society world. Emotionless, Victoria announced her engagement to Blake Astor, a match "appropriate" for her old money. My mind recoiled, not just from pain, but from a chilling sense of déjà vu. This wasn't new. I remembered the last time: Victoria's first "amnesia," my desperate pleas, Blake framing me. My own son, Liam, blank-faced, delivering the "medication" that ended that life in a sanatorium. Both amnesias were lies – one to use me, the other to discard me. The bitter taste of betrayal consumed me. But this time, I wouldn't beg. I took their blood money. My hand steady, I signed the NDA. "Three days," I told Mrs. Sterling, "arrange my flight to California." They saw a gold digger. I saw escape, and the fuel to rebuild my life. Stanford's Computer Science program awaited.