The Money He Never Saw

After being married to Megan for six years, I did my best to be a responsible husband.

I transferred a fixed 0-02,000 every month, and that never changed for six years.

Until the kindergarten teacher called me:

Mr. Blake, your son fainted at school. The doctor says he passed out from hunger. Please come as soon as you can.

I rushed to the hospital, only to hear Megan break down and accuse me:

"Luke, do you even deserve to be a father? You only give us $2,000 a month. How are we supposed to live? Now our child has fainted from hunger, are you satisfied?"

Two thousand? But I clearly sent 0-02,000!

I tried to explain in a panic, but she looked like her heart had already gone cold.

The video got posted online, and I was ruined.

I lost my job, and the landlord looked at me like I was trash.

In a daze, I fell into an icy lake.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment the transfer had gone through.

This time, I was determined to find out where my money had really gone.

The moment my fingerprint went through, everything before my eyes suddenly went pitch black, and I lost consciousness completely.

When the light came back, I found myself clutching my phone tightly, with the familiar mobile banking screen lit up again, and the screen showed the words, "Please enter transfer amount."

I froze.

My finger hovered motionless above the keypad, and I did not move for a long time.

The scene from just now kept flashing through my mind over and over again

The hospital ceiling, my son's skinny little hand, Megan's hysterical cries, and the bone-chilling lake water.

My chest tightened, and I stared blankly at my phone as I entered the amount and successfully completed the transfer.

Only after I saw the words "Transfer successful" did I let out a deep breath and call Megan.

Megan and I had been married for six years, and our son Oliver was five.

I was working out of town, and all these years I had always felt guilty toward them.

So on the 15th of every month, I would transfer the money on time.

"Megan, my paycheck is transferred over. Check whether you got it."

A faint tapping sound came from the other end of the phone, and only after a few seconds did Megan answer, "Yeah, I got it."

Her voice sounded a little distant, as if she was deliberately holding something back.

"That's good."

I let out a sigh of relief, but then I thought of what had happened in my previous life, and I could not help asking, "Every month, did you receive the full amount? 0-02,000?"

I asked the last line very carefully.

But Megan suddenly got angry. "What do you mean? If I didn't get it, are you saying you could still send it to someone else?"

"No, that's not what I mean, I..."

"If that's not what you mean, then what do you mean?"

Her tone on the other end of the line was sharp and aggressive.

I forced myself to calm down and changed the subject. "How's Oliver lately? Is he getting used to kindergarten?"

"That's none of your business." She tossed out a cold line. "I've got things to do. I'm hanging up."

The call ended.

I put down my phone, but my uneasiness only grew.

In my previous life, until my son had that accident, I had always thought all 0-02,000 each month had gone to Megan.

But at the hospital, Megan said I had only sent $2,000, and Oliver's malnutrition clearly had not happened overnight.

I opened my mobile banking app and exported six years of transfer records.

For these six years, every 15th of the month, 0-02,000 had been sent without fail.

But if the money had arrived, then in my previous life, how could my son have fainted from hunger?

Just then, my phone rang.

It was my son's kindergarten teacher.

"Mr. Blake, please hurry to City Children's Hospital! Oliver just fainted at kindergarten, and the doctor says he went into hypoglycemic shock caused by severe malnutrition!"

My mind went blank at once.

"Miss Carter, how is Oliver right now?"

"He's still being resuscitated! Mr. Blake, I hate to say this, but how exactly do you and your wife take care of your child?"

The teacher's voice carried restrained anger.

"Oliver is only five years old, but he weighs less than 33 pounds. He's more than 10 pounds lighter than other kids his age! He usually gobbles down his food at kindergarten, and we thought he just had a big appetite. We never expected it was because he was..."

She did not finish, but I knew what she wanted to say.

She wanted to say Oliver had fainted from hunger, that I, as his father, was completely unfit.

But clearly, I transferred 0-02,000 every month...

Thinking of that, I said bitterly, "No, I clearly..."

"Mr. Blake!" the teacher interrupted me. "Do you know what was in Oliver's pocket today? Half a stale bagel! The child said he secretly brought it from home and took bites of it whenever he was hungry!"

Listening to the teacher, a wave of coldness swept through my whole body.

"I'm coming right now."

After hanging up, I slammed the gas pedal all the way down.

On the way, I desperately recalled every detail from the past six years.

0-02,000 every month, plus Megan's $4,000 salary as an office clerk, meant our household income was 0-06,000 a month.

In this city, even with a $3,000 mortgage, there was no way my son should have been reduced to hiding bagels to eat.

Unless...

No, the transfer records were crystal clear. Unless Megan was lying.

But why? He was her own son too.

I rushed into the emergency room and saw Megan standing outside the resuscitation room, scrolling on her phone.

"Where's Oliver?"

She looked up. Her expression first flashed with panic, then she immediately raised her eyebrows. "And you still have the nerve to show up?"

"I asked where Oliver is!"

"He's inside being resuscitated!" She shoved me and said sharply, "You only give me $2,000 a month, the mortgage is $3,500, kindergarten is 0-0,500, and with what's left, I don't even dare walk into a mall! Oliver's starving every day, so how could he not faint?"

Several family members turned to look.

"Two thousand?" I stared at her. "I send 0-02,000 every month."

"0-02,000?" Megan sneered, shoving her phone almost into my face. "Look for yourself!"

On the screen were her transfer records: March 15, received 2000.00. April 15, received 2000.00. Every single month was two thousand.

"I sent 0-02,000," I repeated.

"Luke, are you even human?" Her voice suddenly cracked with tears. "Our son is in there, life or death unknown, and you're not thinking about raising money, you're standing here settling accounts with me?

Yes, I'm poor, yes, I'm useless, but every bite I saved went to the child! And you? You're out there living it up, tossing me $2,000 a month, and now you want to deny it?"

Someone raised their phone.

I held back my anger. This was exactly how it had been in my previous life. The video went online, and I was cursed as a piece of trash.

"Let's talk after Oliver comes out."

"Talk about what?" She wiped her face. "The doctor said he needs to stay at least half a month, and that's $50,000. Transfer the money now."

"I'll pay. But I want to know first why 0-02,000 turns into $2,000 when it gets to you."

"You're still making excuses"

The doors to the resuscitation room opened. A doctor came out with a grave expression.

"The child is temporarily stable, but the malnutrition is severe, and there is heart muscle damage. He must be hospitalized for treatment." He looked at Megan. "Has the child often been dizzy and weak before? You parents have been far too careless."

Tears instantly welled up in Megan's eyes. "I have to work and take care of him all by myself... His father only gives me $2,000 a month, so I don't even dare buy much meat..."

The doctor glanced at me with a look as if he were looking at something filthy. He said nothing and turned to leave.

A nurse wheeled Oliver out. The child was so thin he looked unrecognizable, and when he saw me, he called out softly, "Daddy."

"Yeah, Daddy's here."

"I'm hungry." He blinked, then added in an even softer voice, "Mom says meat is too expensive, so we can't eat it every day."

I turned to look at Megan.

She was bending over to tuck the blanket around Oliver, her fingers clenched white, and she did not dare look at me.

After Oliver fell asleep, Megan was the first to step out of the room.

"Luke, let's talk."

"We should talk." I stared at her. "Tell me the truth. Where did the 0-02,000 a month go?"

"I told you, I only got $2,000!" Her emotions started to rise again. "Do you have someone else out there?"

"No, I don't." I forced myself to stay patient. "Megan, we've been married for six years. I work hard for you and Oliver. How could I possibly only give you $2,000?"

"But the facts are that I got $2,000!" She pulled out her phone. "If you don't believe me, let's go to the bank and check the statement right now!"

"Fine. Let's go now."

Megan clearly did not expect me to agree so readily, and she froze for a moment. "Oliver is still on an IV drip..."

"There's a nurse watching him. We'll go and come back quickly. The bank closes at 4:30, we still have time."

Megan still looked unhappy. "Oliver is still on an IV drip, and you actually have time to go to the bank?"

"Precisely because of that, I have to figure this out." I walked ahead. "If you don't want to go, I'll go myself."

"Wait!" She hurried after me. "I'm going!"

At the bank, I directly requested the transfer records.

The teller quickly confirmed: Sir, for nearly six years, you have transferred 0-02,000 to Megan on the 15th of every month without interruption.

"Impossible!" Megan screamed, slamming her phone onto the counter. "Look at my records! I only receive $2,000 every month!"

The teller looked troubled and suggested she log into her mobile banking app and verify it on the spot.

When Megan entered the password, her fingers were shaking a little. On the screen, the records from the last three months still showed $2,000, but when she scrolled farther back, all those $2,000 entries disappeared and became 0-02,000.

"I clearly remember it was $2,000..." she murmured, her face going pale.

"If the actual amount you received does not match the system records, I suggest you contact the police. This may involve financial fraud," the teller said with a polite smile.

"No... no need to call the police." Megan shook her head in panic and forced out a smile. "Maybe... maybe I remembered wrong."

"Remembered wrong?" I looked at her. "For six straight years, every single month?"

"Luke, what do you mean? Are you saying I lied on purpose? What would I gain from that? Oliver is my son too!"

"So what are you after?" I said slowly. "I just want to know why Oliver is so malnourished that he ended up in the hospital."

Megan's eyes darted away. Just then, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen, and her face turned even uglier. She directly hung up. "It's a sales call.

" She grabbed her bag. "Since the bank records show 0-02,000, then maybe I remembered wrong. Let's go back."

She turned and walked off quickly. Watching her almost panicked back, the last bit of warmth in my heart completely froze over.

Back in the room, Oliver was already awake. I asked what he usually ate, and he said softly, "Porridge, bagels, and sometimes some greens. Meat is very rare. Mom says meat is expensive, and we can only eat it once a week, just a few small pieces each time."

I looked toward Megan by the window. She had her back to us, and her shoulders were trembling slightly.

"Megan, with your $4,000 monthly salary, plus the 0-02,000 I send, after the $3,000 mortgage, the remaining money still isn't enough for even a meal with meat for the child?"

She turned around, her eyes swollen red. "Luke, is that really how you see me? I scrimp and save to keep this family running, and this is how you question me?"

Her words were cut off by a doctor entering the room. Dr. Hayes from nutrition came in holding a medical chart, his face grim. "The child's condition is very serious. He has been in a long-term state of semi-starvation. Is your family in serious financial trouble?"

"No." I answered for Megan and listed our income and mortgage.

Dr. Hayes furrowed his brows tightly. "Then that should not be the case. Nutritional intervention must start immediately, or it will affect the child for the rest of his life.

During hospitalization, meals with proper nutrition will cost about $500 a day, and after discharge it will still be around $3,000 a month for at least a year, bringing the total to around $50,000."

"Money is not the problem," I said.

But Megan murmured, "$50,000... where are we supposed to get $50,000?"

I opened my mobile banking app and turned the screen toward her. Balance: $230,000.

Megan's eyes widened suddenly, and her lips moved, but no sound came out.

I looked into her eyes and said very calmly, "I transfer 0-02,000 to you every month and keep $6,000 for myself. This is money I saved by working for eight years, living frugally. Megan, if I really only gave you $2,000, how could I possibly have saved this little myself?"

The room was terrifyingly quiet, and the last trace of color drained from Megan's face. She opened her mouth.

In the end, not a single word came out.

That night, I stayed in the hospital room. After Oliver fell asleep, I opened my laptop and started checking the accounts.

Since the bank records showed I transferred 0-02,000, and Megan's account also showed she received 0-02,000, then the problem might be in the middle.

I remembered a case I had seen before: someone used a third-party payment platform and set up automatic transfers, so the money would be moved again the moment it arrived.

I logged into Megan's mobile banking appher password was Oliver's birthday, and I had always remembered it. I entered the account details and carefully checked every deposit.

Sure enough, I found the problem.

Every 15th of the month, 0-02,000 arrived. But almost within the same minute, there would be a 0-00,000 transfer out, and the recipient was an account called BrightPath Investments.

The remaining $2,000 would be transferred the same day or the next day to another account named Dylan Brooks.

Dylan Brooks?

I had never heard this name before.

Looking at the other months, the pattern was exactly the same: 0-02,000 arrived, 0-00,000 went to BrightPath Investments, and $2,000 went to Dylan Brooks.

Sometimes the transfer to Dylan Brooks would be delayed by a day or two, but it never failed to appear.

I was freezing all over.

So Megan had not been lying completely. She really did "only receive $2,000," because the rest of the money had already been transferred out before she saw it.

But a transfer required either a password or fingerprint verification. Unless... she had done it herself.

Or someone had obtained her account password.

I took screenshots and saved all the records, then searched for BrightPath Investments. It was an investment platform that had blown up three years ago, and the boss had run off with the money, involving more than a billion dollars. Countless people lost everything.

Megan had invested money in that platform? 0-00,000 every month for six years meant $720,000. Add in her own salary savings...

I suddenly remembered that six years ago, Megan had mentioned that one of her girlfriends was doing investments and making a very high return, and asked whether I wanted to put in some money too.

I was busy with a project at the time, so I casually said, "You handle it, just don't invest too much." After that, I never heard her mention it again.

Could she have been secretly investing all this time? And increasing the amount more and more, even using our living expenses?

As for that Dylan Brooks...

I searched the name, but nothing came up in any app.

But when I opened Megan's bills, I saw even more transfer records: the money sent to Dylan Brooks did not only come from the bank card, but also from other transfer platforms, with amounts ranging from a few hundred to a few thousand, spanning four years.

The most recent one was yesterday, for $2,000.

The note said: "This month's living expenses for baby."

Baby?

Blood rushed straight to my head.

Megan was seeing someone else? And she had a child with him?

No, impossible. I had been with Megan throughout her pregnancy and delivery all six years of our marriage. Oliver was her only child.

Unless...

A terrifying thought began to take shape in my mind.

With trembling hands, I clicked on Dylan Brooks' profile picture. It was a man seen from behind, and his face was not very clear. But when I enlarged the photo and looked closely, I saw that he was holding the hand of a three- or four-year-old boy.

In the corner of the photo, there was a very small watermark date: May 2023.

Last May.

What was Megan doing then? I remembered that from April to June last year, she said her company had sent her to a nearby city for three months of training. During that time, we barely contacted each other, and she said the training was very busy, so she often did not answer calls.

My heart sank little by little.

I shut the laptop and walked to the window. It was late at night, and the streets outside the hospital were dimly lit.

In the room, Oliver smacked his lips in his sleep and called out softly, "Mommy."

Megan had gone home for something.

I took out my phone and sent her a message: "Oliver is awake. He said he misses Mommy."

Ten minutes later, she replied: "He's asleep. I'll come by tomorrow morning."

"What happened at home? Do you need my help?"

"No need. A pipe broke, but it's already fixed."

But I clearly remembered that just last week, she had said the pipes at home had just been replaced with new ones.

I stayed on the chat screen for a long time, and in the end I typed: "Megan, let's talk. About Dylan Brooks."

The message was sent, and it showed "Read."

But she did not reply.

Five minutes, ten minutes, half an hour.

She seemed to have vanished.

I directly called her. Busy signal. I called again. Her phone was turned off.

At 2:00 a.m., I stood in the empty hallway, my whole body ice-cold.

My phone suddenly vibrated. It was a text from an unknown number. There was only one line:

"Want to know where the money went? Tomorrow at 10 a.m., the caf by the hospital back entrance. Come alone. Don't tell Megan."

I stared at that text, my fingers tightening.

The truth was about to come out.