Emergency Room, Hospital

I stepped out of the doctor’s office, my heels clicking against the sterile tile floor. My thoughts were in shambles. The doctor had just said my son had developed acute gastroenteritis—something he’d eaten. But how? I’d always been meticulous with his meals. Organic, fresh, carefully prepared. Where had I slipped?

The cold hallway seemed to stretch endlessly as I walked toward his room. I was still reeling from the diagnosis, but nothing—nothing—could’ve prepared me for what I was about to hear.

"Dad, can you and Mom get a divorce?"

I stopped dead in my tracks.

The words sliced through me, cold and brutal. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. I stood there, frozen, as if time had paused around me. My fingers clenched into fists. My chest tightened with a pain I couldn’t quite name—was it betrayal? Rejection? Or just heartbreak?

What had I done wrong?

Inside, my husband’s voice was a low murmur. "Why would you say that?"

"Because Mom isn’t like Aunt Joy," my son replied, his tone laced with a bitterness far too grown-up for a seven-year-old. "She lets me eat whatever I want."

Aunt Joy?

My stomach dropped. That name...I hadn’t heard it in years. She was Sebastian’s first love, the one who disappeared without warning to marry a billionaire in France. I thought she was out of our lives for good. When had she come back? Why was my son even talking about her?

The walls seemed to close in around me, the air heavy with the scent of antiseptic and betrayal.

"Hey, buddy," Sebastian said quickly, his voice suddenly sharp. "Remember, don’t mention Aunt Joy in front of your mom, okay? Your mom loves you. A lot. More than you know."

Hearing his defense of me, I felt a flicker of warmth spark beneath the chill in my chest. For a moment, I had been bracing myself—afraid that perhaps Sebastian still harbored feelings for Joy. But his words, firm and protective, wrapped around me like a soft blanket.

My clenched fists slowly loosened at my sides. He chose me. We were married now. Joy was just a memory, a chapter he'd closed long ago. It was normal for old friends to cross paths again—it didn’t have to mean anything more.

I exhaled slowly, realizing I’d been too hard on Jordan. He was only five—too young to understand the weight his words carried. His little heart didn’t yet know the difference between freedom and care, indulgence and protection. I had always been strict with his diet, always watching what he ate. Cold drinks, greasy snacks, sweets—they were forbidden for a reason. His stomach had never been strong.

But maybe I had forgotten to balance discipline with gentleness. Maybe… I needed to reflect, too.

I pushed the door open, and the moment our eyes met, I saw it—the flicker of shock in Sebastian’s gaze. He hadn’t expected me. For a heartbeat, everything froze. But I didn’t give him time to explain. I stepped forward, leaned in, and kissed him softly on the lips before whispering the doctor’s advice.

Then I turned to Jordan.

I bent down to kiss his forehead, but he turned his face away, retreating into his pillow like I was a stranger.

“Please leave,” he mumbled. “I only want Daddy.”

The words hit harder than any slap. I blinked, stunned. My heart cracked in silence. I wanted to say something, to ask why—but the doctor’s words echoed in my mind: He needs rest.

So I left. Quietly. In pain.

I barely made it past the automatic doors before I felt Sebastian’s arms wrap around me from behind. He pulled me close, his embrace firm, grounding.

“Hey,” he said, turning me to face him. “Look at me. Jordan’s just upset. It’s not you—it’s how strict you’ve been lately. I’ll talk to him, alright?”

He kissed me, gently, reassuringly.

I nodded, unable to speak past the tight knot in my throat. Then I walked away, helpless and hollow, trying to hold myself together.

When I got home, sleep refused to come. The house was too quiet, too cold. I picked up my tablet, hoping that flipping through old photos of Jordan smiling in my arms would bring me some comfort.

But just as I opened the gallery, a notification popped up on the screen.

Group Chat: Happy Little Family

My stomach twisted. The name of the group chat felt like a cruel joke, a slap across the face.

I tapped it open, and the profile picture shattered whatever was left of my fragile peace.

Four people.

My son.

Another child.

A woman.

And my husband—Sebastian Steele.

My fingers trembled as I zoomed in. The woman held Jordan in her arms, a giant ice cream cone in one hand, her smile glowing with effortless warmth. Sebastian stood beside her, cradling a little girl—Joy’s daughter, no doubt. And the way he looked at Joy…

It was the way he used to look at me.

With adoration.

With something that looked heartbreakingly like love.

My chest tightened, every breath shallow. This wasn’t just a harmless group chat. It was a portrait of a family...without me.

Then I saw the name Jordan had saved her as.

“Mom.”

A sharp gasp escaped me. My knees buckled, and I sank onto the edge of the bed.

Joy Mondes.

The woman who had once been the love of Sebastian’s life. The woman who had left him and married into power. The woman who, I thought, had been buried in the past.

But I remembered now...our wedding night... when Sebastian had moaned her name in bed.

I’d told myself I misheard.

I had convinced myself he hated her.

Apparently, I had been a fool.

I stared at the photo again, unable to look away, as if the pain would lessen the longer I did.

Then the messages.

I scrolled. My heart was pounding louder with every word.

And then I saw the date.

Jordan’s birthday.

Joy had written:

“Darling, you told me you wished I could be your mom. You even said anyone but your current mom would do.”

My throat tightened. I swallowed hard, but it burned like glass.

Below it was a voice message. I clicked.

Her voice was gentle. Playful.

"You just want to be happy, right? I get it. Your mom’s too strict, she doesn’t let you eat what you want or play when you want. But don’t worry, darling. In this family, I’ll be your new mom."

Jordan’s voice followed.

"Dad, my birthday wish is to live with Mom Joy! Can you make it happen?"

Sebastian answered without hesitation.

"Of course. Just give it some time… Dad promises."

Then Jordan again, full of resentment:

"Ugh, it’s all because of Mom. She’s just a housewife. She didn’t even come to my birthday. I don’t like her! Mom’s not as pretty as Mom Joy, and she always smells like sauce. She embarrasses me!"

I couldn’t breathe.

On Jordan’s birthday… I had wanted to be there. But Sebastian had told me his mother had fallen and was in the hospital. I’d rushed over, panicked. He’d promised to explain it to Jordan.

He never did.

And yes, I was a stay-at-home mom. I smelled like sauce because I cooked every meal from scratch, cleaned up every spill, folded every shirt. I wore stained clothes because I wanted the house clean before I changed into something nice.

I thought Jordan would understand one day.

I thought he’d be proud of me.

Instead, he was ashamed.

My fingers trembled as I replayed the voice messages—again and again—each word a dagger twisting deeper into my chest.

The boy I raised with love, who I’d comforted through fevers and held through hospital nights… wanted someone else to be his mom.

Sebastian… the man who had just held me in the hospital hallway, promising to handle things… was planning to give me up behind my back.

Was this his way of “handling it”?

The betrayal cut deeper than I could’ve imagined. My husband. My son. My life.

All stolen… by one woman. And a lie.

I doubled over, sobbing, the pain too sharp, too raw.

What had I done to deserve this?

What was I supposed to do… now?