The Abandoned Long-lost Son

After being missing for eighteen years, I was finally found by my wealthy birth parents.

The impostor—the young man who had taken my place all this time—dropped to his knees, sobbing. "Goodbye, Mom and Dad. Thank you for raising me. Now that Jason is back, this family doesn't need me anymore."

My parents hugged him with heartbreaking tenderness. "Don't be ridiculous," they said. "You're our only real son."

Even my fiancée confessed her love to him. "I don't care who you really are. You're the only one I love."

They all orbited around him, like planets around the sun.

When I was nearly killed in a car accident, they were too busy throwing a birthday party for his dog.

So I packed my things in silence. Without a word, I accepted an invitation from the space agency to join a five-year satellite research mission in complete isolation.

Yet after I left, it was like the whole family lost their minds. They scoured the entire country, desperate to find any trace of me.

The day I was discharged from the hospital after the accident, I signed a confidentiality agreement right there in the ward.

A representative from the space agency grasped my hand, visibly excited. "Welcome aboard."

He reminded me again, "This research project is strictly classified. You can't speak a single word of it to anyone. For the next five years, you'll be completely isolated—no contact with the outside world."

He gave me three days to say goodbye to my family.

I let out a small, self-mocking laugh. "I'm an orphan. I don't have anyone to say goodbye to."

I handled my discharge paperwork alone. When I got home, my parents were waiting, eyes dark and heavy with displeasure.

My mother was the first to speak, holding back her anger. "Jason, where the hell have you been? You've been gone for three months without a single word! Carson waited half the night for you, just to celebrate the dog's birthday with you. Do you know how disappointed he was?"

My father's voice was colder, stripped of any warmth. "He's gotten too bold, hasn't he? Won't even listen to us anymore. If that's the case, might as well get out of this house for good."

Three months ago, I was on the edge of death after a car crash. The hospital called them over and over again. All they got in return were cold, unanswered rings.

They hadn't cared if I lived or died. But now, they were scolding me for missing a birthday celebration for a dog.

I couldn't understand it. I was their biological son. Why was I treated worse than a child they adopted?

I didn't want to argue. Not with only a few days left. I kept my voice even. "I didn't see it. I was busy."

My father slammed his hand against the table, ready to explode.

Just then, Carson Wheeler came slowly down the stairs, dressed head-to-toe in the latest designer brands bought by our parents. He wore that familiar, thoughtful expression of his.

"Come on, Mom, Dad. He was probably busy with his research. He's a PhD student after all—he must be swamped. I was just throwing a little birthday party for my pet. It's no big deal."

Dad let out a cold snort, filled with contempt. "PhD? Worthless. Doesn't even understand something as simple as spending time with family. Total waste. He might as well drop out."

I smiled faintly but didn't respond.

The truth was, I hadn't made it home after the accident because Carson had asked one of his buddies to run me over outside the university gates.

It was a hit-and-run. I passed out on the spot, and when I finally woke up, three months had already gone by.

He didn't want me showing up at any event where our parents might be around.

"Just a little longer," I told myself. "I'll be gone soon anyway."

My mother paused at that, confused. Her brows knit together. "Where are you going? Where else do you think you can go besides here?"

She truly believed I had nowhere else—because before they found me, I had grown up in a run-down orphanage, alone and unwanted.

Carson curled his lips into a smug smile. But by the time he took his seat beside them, his expression had melted into something pitiful. "Maybe Jason doesn't want to be anywhere I am. Maybe I shouldn't be here at all."

Casually, he let his hand drop onto the table—just enough for everyone to notice the antique silver cuff wrapped around his wrist. The craftsmanship, the engraved family crest—impossible to mistake its significance.

I remembered that cuff.

Back when I was a kid, before I went missing, Dad once said to me, "Jason, this heirloom belongs to the next head of the family. When you're ready, it'll be yours."

Now, it sat snug around Carson's wrist.