Chapter 207

Philip's POV

"If you don't agee. I'll kill myself right now!"

My mother's shrill voice pierced through my eardrums. I stood frozen in place, droplets of water from the shower sliding down my cheeks,the cold sensation creating a stark contrast with the throbbing pain at my temples.The hangover made my entire skull feel like it had been stuffed into a blender,buzzing incessantly.

"Mom, are you serious?" My mouth tasted bitter, my tongue feeling like it was wrapped in sandpaper.

"Of course!" Her voice cut through my headache. "Don't think I'm joking.Philip!"

I grabbed a towel and haphazardly wiped my face. A vasectomy? God,what kind of game were Sarah and my mother playing? I leaned against the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror-puffy eye bags, pale lips,bloodshot eyes. I barely recognized the man looking back at me.

My phone rang again, the screen lighting up with a video call request.

My finger slid across to answer, and the image on the screen made me gasp. My mother was standing at the edge of a high-rise building, her Burberry trench coat flapping violently in the wind, her gray hair disheveled by the strong gusts. She had actually gone up to the rooftop.

"Do you believe me now?" Her voice was unnervingly calm, but her eyes were sharp as an eagle's.

"Mom, stop this nonsense and come down!" My voice cracked with panic.

"Nonsense?" She let out a cold laugh. "For thirty years I've given everything to this family, and now when I ask you to do just one thing.you call it nonsense?"

She rotated the phone. directing the camera downward. The scene on the street below came into clear view-a group of people had formed a semicircle, looking up and pointing. A coffee delivery boy stood with his mouth agape; a couple clutched each other's hands tightly, the girl's face drained of color; several men in business suits had stopped to stare;an elderly woman with silver hair was shakily dialing on her phone.Some people had taken out their phones to film, their flashes glinting in the sunlight.

I heard my mother shouting: "My son is so heartless! He'd rather watch me jump than fulfill a mother's small wish!"

Gasps erupted from the crowd. "Oh my God!" "Someone's going to jump!""Call the police!" "What kind of monster treats his mother like that?"

My heart raced, my chest tightening. This wasn't some damn TV drama-this was my real life. If she jumped-

A wave of dizziness hit me, and I steadied myself against the wall. In my mind flashed Annie's disappointed gaze, Brian's distant back. What was I supposed to do? Having this surgery meant I would never have children again, but if I refused, and my mother actually jumped... that would be a nightmare I could never escape.

"Fine, I'll do it," my voice was so dry it didn't sound like my own. "But you have to promise me that once the surgery is done, this is over."

A glint of triumph flashed in my mother's eyes."We'll stay on video call the whole time. I want to see you walk into the hospital, watch the doctor

complete the surgery."

I hastily threw on a shirt and trousers, not even taking the time to tie my shoelaces. Off-camera, my hands were trembling, whether from the hangover or from anger, I couldn't tell. Perhaps both.

I rushed out of my apartment building, the blinding sunlight hitting my face like a slap. I stumbled into my car, my hands barely cooperating as I started the engine. The phone was mounted on the dashboard, my mother's face filling the entire screen.

"Hurry up. Philip!" she urged, her voice echoing inside the car.

The glass doors of the private hospital slid open before me,a blast of cold air hitting my face, carrying the scent of disinfectant. The receptionist looked up, recognizing me.

"Mr. Baker?" She offered a professional smile. "Do you have an appointment today?"

I looked directly into her eyes, making sure my voice was clear enough for the phone to pick up: "I need a vasectomy. Now."

Her smile froze momentarily, her gaze quickly darting to my mother's face on the phone screen, then back to me. "Please wait, I'll call the doctor."

The few minutes of waiting felt like centuries. I paced in the waiting room,my throat burning with thirst, my headache intensifying. The decorative paintings on the wall seemed to distort before my eyes, their vivid colors seemingly mocking my situation.

The doctor entered in his white coat, handing me a stack of forms. His voice was flat, as if discussing the weather: "Mr. Baker, while vasectomy is theoretically reversible, the success rate isn't high, and it should be

considered a procedure with long-term effects on fertility. We usually recommend that patients communicate thoroughly with their partners and carefully consider before deciding..."

"No need to consider." I roughly interrupted him, grabbing the pen. The tip nearly tore through the paper. "Let's get started."

Lying on the cold operating table, as the anesthesiologist prepared the injection. I felt a strange sense of release. It was as if this surgery wasn't just cutting off my reproductive ability, but also severing some long-standing constraint.

"Count to ten. Mr. Baker," the anesthesiologist's voice gradually faded.

"One...two...three..."

I didn't make it to four before darkness swallowed my consciousness.

When I woke up, a dull pain radiated from my lower body. My vision focused on a crack in the ceíling, shaped like a question mark. My phone was still on, my mother's face on the screen. She had returned to her warm,comfortable living room, crystal chandelier twinkling above her head.

"Is it done?" she asked, unable to hide the smugness in her voice.

"Yes," my throat felt like it had been scorched.

"That's the only right decision you've made, Philip," she adjusted her necklace. "You've finally done something decent. This is the best protection for the Baker family."

I stared at her meticulously made-up face, suddenly feeling as if I was looking at a stranger. Was this really the woman who had raised me?

"From today onward," I said, each word deliberate, "I am no longer your son."

Her smile froze on her face. "What nonsense are you talking about?"

I didn't respond, instead pressing the disconnect button and immediately blocking her number. The entire process was surprisingly calm, like discarding a worn-out piece of clothing.

Back at my apartment, I collapsed onto the sofa, feeling as if all the strength had been drained from my body. A hollowness spread from my chest to every extremity. I dialed my secretary's number, my voice hoarse but determined.

"Starting today, stop all payments to Betty Baker. All accounts, all credit cards."

A moment of silence from the other end of the line: "Sir, are you... are you sure?"

"Absolutely certain. If she wants money,tell her to find a lawyer. I will only pay the minimum amount legally required."

After hanging up, I lay motionless, staring at the ceiling. Last night's empty bottles lay scattered across the floor.

I wanted to laugh, but found my eyes growing damp instead.

My gaze inadvertently fell on a photograph on the bookshelf-me, Annie,and newborn Brian. Back then, I was smiling so confidently, as if I had the whole world in my grasp. How ironic.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to the photograph, not sure who I was apologizing to.