Divorcing My Rich Husband

Synopsis

When my son, Mike Dawson, was six, he cursed at someone in Moretorian for the first time. And I was the one he cursed at. At the kindergarten gate, he stood among a bunch of kids, his little backpack slung over his shoulders. His voice wasn't loud, but it was clear as day. He called me a fat pig. The other kids didn't get it, but they laughed along. I understood every word, because I taught him every single syllable. I stood outside the school gate, seven months pregnant, the thermos in my hand burning my palm. When Mike saw me, his smile vanished in an instant. I reached out to take his backpack. But he dodged, pulling it behind his back and scrunching up his nose. "Mom, you smell bad," Mike said. I froze for a second. I sweated a lot now that I was in the last months of pregnancy, but I'd made sure to change before I left the house. One of the kids nearby asked, "Is that your mom?" Mike didn't answer right away. After a few seconds, he finally mumbled with his head down, "Yeah." He sounded like he was forcing himself to say it. Admitting I was his mom felt like something to be embarrassed about. I looked at him. "Who taught you that Moretorian phrase just now?" His eyes flickered. "What Moretorian?" "You called me a fat pig," I said. He kicked at the leaves on the ground, not saying a word. I pressed, "Did your dad say that?" Mike pursed his lips. "They all say that. "Grandma says since you got pregnant with my sister, you're not like you used to be." My belly gave a little kick. I grabbed the railing, and suddenly, the burn in my palm didn't hurt so much anymore. What hurt was that I was the one who taught him every word he knew. But the first thing he did after he learned was to despise me.