He didn’t ask questions. He just pulled up the feed. The screen showed Howard sleeping. He looked so vulnerable under that thin hospital blanket.
The chair next to his bed — the one Jasper was supposed to be in — was empty.
The digital clock in the corner of the screen flicked to 3:00 a.m.
The door to the room opened. I expected to see a doctor or another nurse. Instead, Jasper walked in.
But he wasn’t alone.
The door to the room opened.
A woman followed him. She closed the door softly behind her.
Jasper still had his coat on. He hadn’t been sitting with our son. He had been… somewhere else.
Howard stirred. “Dad?”
Jasper pulled the chair close to the bed. “Hey, buddy. You doing okay?”
The woman stayed near the wall, her arms folded. She was watching them both.
“We need to make sure we’re telling the story about what happened the right way,” Jasper said.
He had been… somewhere else.
My stomach dropped.
Howard frowned. “I told everyone I fell.”
“Right.” Jasper nodded quickly. “You were riding your scooter. I was outside. You lost your balance. Freak accident. That’s what we tell Mom.”
“But Dad, I don’t want to lie to Mom.”
My heart broke right then and there.
“I told everyone I fell.”
“We have to, okay?” Jasper’s voice took on a sharp, impatient edge. “Your mom can’t know I wasn’t there. She’ll flip out, and you know how she gets.”
I felt a surge of rage. Jasper wasn’t there? Then where was he?
“But why?” Howard asked. “You just went to the store, and Kelly was there…”
The woman, Kelly, shifted uncomfortably. “Your mom isn’t supposed to know about me yet, remember? We talked about this, Howard.”
“Your mom can’t know I wasn’t there.”
Jasper lowered his voice. “We’ll tell her when the time is right. And when that happens, we don’t need your mom making assumptions because of this accident.”
“But… I was the one who tried doing that trick,” Howard said, his voice rising slightly. “Kelly wasn’t even watching me when I did it. She was inside, fetching her phone.”
Kelly stepped closer to the bed. “I was inside for a few seconds. You were fine. You should’ve been fine.”
“We’ll tell her when the time is right.”
Jasper waved his hands as if to dismiss the whole thing. “This is exactly what we’re trying to avoid, kiddo. We’re keeping things simple. That means you don’t say I wasn’t there. You don’t say Kelly stepped inside for a few minutes. And you don’t say you were trying a trick. Okay? We stick to the story.”
I felt dizzy, like the room was spinning.
He wasn’t even there. He left our son with a woman I didn’t even know existed, and now they were coaching a ten-year-old to lie so they could protect themselves.
“We’re keeping things simple.”
“Okay,” Howard whispered.
Jasper stood and patted Howard’s shoulder. “Get some sleep, champ.”
Kelly leaned over and gave a tight smile. “You’re very brave.”
They walked out of the room together, and the screen went back to showing my son, alone and burdened with a secret he never should have had to carry.
The security guard beside me shifted. “You want me to save that clip?”
“Yes, I do.”
They walked out of the room together.
The charge nurse was waiting near the elevators. “You saw?”
I nodded. “He lied to my face.”
Her expression hardened. “We’ll notify the social worker.”
The next few hours were a blur of paperwork and quiet conversations. By 7 a.m., a hospital social worker had reviewed the footage.
She was a no-nonsense woman who had seen the worst of people, and she wasn’t impressed with Jasper. She made an official incident note documenting an inconsistent parental statement, admission of absence during the injury, and coaching of a minor to maintain a false narrative.
“We’ll notify the social worker.”
When I walked back into Howard’s room at 8 a.m., Jasper was back in his chair.
“Hey, you get some sleep?”
“I know what really happened, Jasper,” I said. “And I know you coached Howard to lie about it.”
Howard looked between us, his eyes wide with fear. “Dad said—”
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