Hidden Desires - Family Secrets-Chapter 202 Reality wouldn’t change by my avoiding it Part3

At that moment, the two of them were deep in conversation, their laughter booming joyously from the floor below to the one above.

Hearing Betty’s unrestrained, hearty laughter, a twinge of jealousy surged through me.

It wasn’t just about anything trivial; ever since Michael had returned, Betty seemed almost fearful around me, her words cautious, even her smiles restrained.

It had been ages since I’d heard her laugh so freely, and now, finally hearing it, it belonged to someone else.

Without a second thought, I was cornered, with no option but to move forward.

I swiftly pulled out my keys and unlocked the door to my house, my movements fluid like a well-rehearsed dance.

Once inside, I kicked off my shoes and, as usual, dashed to the back balcony of my home.

After reaching the balcony, I steadied my breathing.

The sequence of unlocking the door, closing it, removing my shoes, and reaching the balcony had taken mere seconds.

After catching my breath for about a minute, the sound of the door opening echoed again, sending a wave of tension through me.

My actions had been too rash.

Firstly, the noise of the door had been loud, undoubtedly heard by Betty and Michael in the hallway.

Secondly, I hadn’t secured the door properly in my haste.

I had merely locked it behind me before rushing in.

Such obvious oversights were sure to be noticed by Betty and Michael.

Regret gnawed at me; had I known I’d end up in this predicament, I might as well have stayed at the door, pretending to have forgotten my keys while waiting to retrieve some documents.

Now, I was at the mercy of fate.

The house wasn’t large, and it would be easy for Betty to find me.

I glanced back at the memorial tablet of my parents that I had placed back on the altar, praying silently for my father’s protection.

"You left without locking the door again..." Betty’s voice filled the living room as she entered.

"I thought I locked it..." Michael’s response followed, his tone lacking conviction.

"You’re always so scatterbrained, never giving me peace of mind. How did you manage abroad?" Betty sighed after hearing Michael’s words.

Though her words were chiding, they carried a deep concern.

Hearing this, I breathed a sigh of relief; their conversation suggested they hadn’t noticed me.

Michael had inadvertently taken the blame for not locking the door, shielding me from the initial suspicion.

As for the sound of the door, they probably hadn’t seen which door was being used; they had only heard the noise.

Our apartment was one of two on this floor, so they might have thought it was our neighbor’s door.

Thus, a potential crisis was effortlessly averted.

"So, I need Mom to take care of me..." Michael’s voice rose again, a child’s whine to his mother, a common enough occurrence in any household.

But given their past, these words stung my ears.

I expected Betty’s next words to be about Michael soon going abroad, that she couldn’t look after him forever.

"When will you grow up..." But Betty’s response took me by surprise.

Having known her so long, I could usually predict her remarks quite accurately, but this time I was wrong.

Betty didn’t mention Michael going abroad, which seemed odd, but I couldn’t pinpoint why.

"I’ve grown up already, it’s not like I haven’t..." Michael’s carefree voice started to say more but was abruptly cut off by Betty.

"Don’t say that..." Betty snapped, her tone tinged with annoyance.

"Oh, sorry, Mom, don’t be mad..." Michael quickly apologized, sensing Betty’s irritation.

The words Michael was about to utter sounded eerily familiar.

I racked my brain and realized they were the same words he had spoken two years ago, right before a disturbing scene unfolded in the bedroom.

That night, after declaring he had grown up, he had proceeded to undress, leading to a moment so shocking it had driven me to flee my home and nearly do something drastic.

"Alright, I’m going to start cooking now, we have things to do after dinner..." Betty announced before she began preparing the meal.

It was daytime, and to avoid detection, I had no choice but to hide behind the wall, pressing myself against it, daring not to peek, relying solely on my ears.

My eyes fixed on the memorial tablet of my parents, trying to distract myself.

The kitchen was just a door away from the balcony where I was hiding.

I held my breath to the extreme, not daring to make a sound.

The clattering of pots and pans filled the kitchen, and slowly, the familiar aroma of Betty’s cooking wafted onto the balcony.

My stomach began to growl, and I quickly covered it to silence the noise, knowing even a slight sound could reveal my presence.

"Click..." Just as I leaned against the wall, waiting, the balcony door suddenly opened.

I instinctively crouched down without thinking.

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It was Betty, coming to grab some green onions.

She reached near the door, grabbed one, and "click," the door closed again.

I was terrified, barely daring to breathe.

Betty’s hand had been less than 8 inches from me.

She hadn’t seen me because I was behind the door, which shielded me when opened.

If I had been on the other side, I would have been exposed.

It took about a minute or two before I began to breathe again.

I hadn’t realized before how long I could hold my breath.

"You child, go watch TV and stop making a fuss..." Just as I was regulating my breathing, Betty’s exclamation came from the kitchen amidst the ongoing noise of cooking utensils.

The sound of the TV came from the living room, suggesting that while Betty cooked, Michael was watching TV, following a brief moment of quiet.

Suddenly, Betty’s voice rose again, this time tinged with annoyance.

Because of the kitchen’s exhaust fan humming loudly, I couldn’t make out much of what was being said.

"Hehe..." Then came Michael’s laughter, which gradually faded as he apparently ran from the kitchen to the living room.

"Ah, this child..." Betty sighed next.

As time ticked by, dinner was finally ready.

The mother and son began to eat in the living room.

I could clearly hear the sounds of their meal and the TV they watched together, interspersed with laughter from Betty and Michael.

With it being daytime, the windows were open, and the noise from outside was loud—people talking, cars passing—all mixed together with the sound of the TV in the living room and the two doors between us, making it impossible to hear their conversation clearly.

I could only catch occasional bursts of laughter.

There I was, hiding alone on the balcony, starving.

I regretted not eating at the office before coming over.

The smell of the food made my hunger even worse.