The first time Summer Lin noticed something unusual about Leo Zhou was during nap time.
The three-year-old children lay curled up on colorful mats like a flock of gentle lambs. Only Leo lay stiffly on his back, eyes open, hands clutching the edges of his blanket. His pale cheeks bore shadows from his eyelashes, which trembled slightly with each breath, but sleep never came.
"Leo, can't sleep?" Summer crouched beside him and asked softly.
The boy didn't answer, just shook his head and stared blankly at the far wall. Summer noticed a faint bruise around his right wrist, like it had been tightly bound.
"What happened to your hand?" She reached out to check, but Leo quickly pulled his arm back and hid under the blanket.
"I fell," he whispered, so quietly it was barely audible.
Summer frowned. Last Wednesday, Leo had a bruise on his left knee. The week before, red marks on his back. Every time she asked, the child would say he'd fallen or bumped into something. It's true that three-year-olds often get bruises, but Leo's injuries appeared too often—and the shapes were unusual.
After nap time, as Summer helped the children get dressed, she took extra care examining Leo. When she took off his little blue jacket, she gasped—his thin back was covered in red welts, some already turning bluish, clearly the result of repeated injuries.
"Leo, how did you get these?" she asked, keeping her voice steady.
The boy looked down in silence, fingers twisting nervously.
"Tell teacher, okay? Who hurt you?"
Leo lifted his head. In his eyes flickered an emotion Summer couldn't identify—not something a three-year-old should have. A mix of fear, confusion, and something eerily close to understanding.
"I was careless," he said at last, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Daddy said I was naughty."
Summer's heart sank.
Leo's father, George Zhou, was a senior counselor at a nearby psychological clinic. His wife had passed away two years earlier, and he had remarried last year. Every time he picked Leo up, George was polite, impeccably dressed, and respectful to the teachers. His new wife, Mona Li—Leo's stepmother—rarely appeared and was always cold when she did.
At dismissal, George Zhou arrived at the classroom on time. He looked to be in his forties, wore gold-rimmed glasses, and smiled gently.
"Mr. Zhou, may I have a moment?" Summer tried to keep her expression neutral. "I'd like to discuss something about Leo."
George's smile froze briefly but quickly returned. "Of course, Miss Lin. Has Leo been misbehaving?"
In the office, Summer showed him photos of the marks on Leo's back. George's reaction was odd—his pupils widened slightly, the corner of his mouth twitched, then he feigned confusion.
"Oh my… When did this happen?" he asked with apparent shock. "Leo said I did that?"
"He said, 'Daddy said I was naughty,'" Summer replied, watching his expression closely.
George removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Miss Lin, I understand your concern. But you should know, ever since his mother passed, Leo's had some behavioral issues. Last week he did fall down the stairs—it's possible he's mixing things up. As for those marks…" He sighed. "He's been saying he doesn't like his new mom. I suspect he might be… hurting himself for attention."
Summer didn't reply immediately. The explanation sounded plausible, but George's body language unsettled her—he kept rubbing his left wrist with his right hand and avoided her gaze.
"Mr. Zhou, as a teacher, it's my duty to ensure every child's safety," Summer said cautiously. "Perhaps we could schedule a home visit? Just to get a sense of Leo's home environment."
George's expression went cold for a moment before the polite mask returned. "Of course. That's reasonable. But my wife and I are both very busy…"
"How about tomorrow afternoon?" Summer insisted. "I'll come with the principal."
George was silent for a few seconds, then nodded. Before leaving, he looked at Leo, who was playing alone in the building blocks corner. His gaze was so complex it made Summer uneasy—there was guilt, pain, and a darkness she couldn't name.
The next afternoon, Summer and Principal Chen visited the Zhou family's apartment on the twelfth floor of a luxury complex. The door was opened by Mona Li, a tall, pale woman in her early thirties with no expression on her face.
"Come in," she said briefly, her voice dry. "George is on a call in the study."
The apartment was exquisitely decorated but unnaturally neat. No sign of a child's presence—no scattered toys, no scribbles, not even fingerprints. The fruit on the coffee table was arranged like artwork. Summer noticed all the table corners were covered with safety bumpers, but beyond that, it didn't feel like a child lived there.
"Where's Leo?" Principal Chen asked.
"In his room, sleeping," Mona replied, eyes fixed on her fingers. "He's been… sleeping a lot lately."
Excusing herself to use the bathroom, Summer quietly scanned the apartment. Passing a half-open door, she caught sight of Leo's room—star stickers on the wall, a worn teddy bear neatly placed on the bed. It was the only room with signs of life, yet even there, an eerie silence lingered.
Back in the living room, George had come out from the study. Dressed in loungewear, he looked more relaxed than he did at school—but Summer noticed a fresh scratch on his left wrist.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said with a smile. "Work's been stressful lately, and the house… a little chaotic."
"Mr. Zhou, we're here to understand Leo's home life better," Principal Chen began. "He's become very quiet at school—unusual for a child his age."
George and Mona exchanged a glance.
"Since his mother died…" George began, voice catching in his throat, "Leo's been heartbroken. I've tried taking him to a child psychologist, but he resists therapy."
"He has nightmares," Mona interjected flatly. "Screams, kicks in his sleep. Last week he accidentally scratched George." She gestured to her husband's wrist.
Summer thought of the bruise on Leo's own wrist. A chill crept through her. The story was too perfect—every wound had an explanation, every strange behavior a reason.
"Can I see Leo?" she asked suddenly.
George's face changed. "He's asleep, I'm afraid—"
Just then, a faint sob echoed from the end of the hallway.
Summer stood up at once, ignoring the hosts and heading toward the sound. She pushed open the door to Leo's room and saw the boy curled in a corner of his bed, tear tracks on his cheeks, a fresh red welt on his right arm—thin and long, like he'd been whipped with something.
"Leo!" Summer rushed to hold him. The boy trembled in her arms like a leaf.
George appeared in the doorway, his face dark. "Miss Lin, please don't do that. Leo has severe separation anxiety. Strangers make him nervous."
Summer stared directly at him. "This isn't separation anxiety, Mr. Zhou. These injuries aren't self-inflicted."
The air in the room seemed to freeze. Mona stood behind her husband, still expressionless, but her hands were clenched tightly around the hem of her blouse.
"I think we need to re-evaluate Leo's situation," Principal Chen said sternly. "According to regulations, we are obligated to report suspected child abuse to the authorities."
George's face twisted momentarily, then returned to calm. "I understand your responsibility. But remember, I'm a trained psychologist. I know what's best for my child." His voice was low, with an edge. "Leo needs treatment, not interference."
After leaving the apartment, Summer immediately filed a report with the child protection agency. But three days later, when social workers arrived to investigate, the Zhou family had vanished. Neighbors said they moved out overnight. No one knew where they had gone.
What disturbed Summer the most was a notebook found abandoned in George Zhou's study. It was filled with case notes about child abuse research—and a sentence circled in red ink:
"Pain is the most effective teacher. Only when fear seeps into the bones does discipline become instinct."
On the inside cover was a faint, dark red fingerprint—no larger than a three-year-old's hand.