Chapter 3
She stayed in the hospital for a full week before the allergic reaction faded completely.
During that week, Chloe's social posts appeared daily.
So-called "trouble" meant her cockroach problem wasn't solved.
Maxwell and Arthur had helped her find a new place, buy furniture, and slowly turn an empty apartment into a warm home.
On discharge day, the father and son finally showed up.
Seeing she'd already handled the paperwork herself, Maxwell's face softened slightly.
"Sorry I didn't visit. My friend just returned to the country and knows no one else—I was the only one who could help."
He rarely apologized.
In the past, Wendy would have smiled and told him it was fine.
This time, she simply opened the car door.
"I understand. Let's go home."
He looked at her, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.
Was she upset?
No—she'd never lost her temper in six years.
Probably his imagination.
In the car, she kept her eyes closed.
But she could feel the boy's gaze on her.
When she opened her eyes, she met Arthur's cautious look.
"Mom, is your allergy gone now?"
"Yes."
The car stopped. She stepped out, and behind her came a soft murmur:
"What a shame Aunt Chloe can't be my mom... "
Her feet froze. Pain gnawed at her heart like a thousand ants.
This was the child she had carried for ten months and raised for five years.
Not only was he unafraid or remorseful for nearly killing her—he regretted failing to replace her.
Bitter irony.
She swallowed the ache and went straight to her room.
Arthur—your wish will come true soon.
That night, she lay in bed early.
The space beside her was cold.
Maxwell often worked late; she was used to it.
Half-asleep, she felt herself pulled into a warm embrace.
His breath on her neck made her shiver.
Opening her eyes, she spotted a golden curl on his shirt collar.
Her own hair had always been long and black.
A wave of nausea rose—she shoved him away.
He blinked, frowning.
"Still not recovered?"
She almost laughed.
He was thinking of another woman—yet pretending to care for her. For whose benefit?
"Maxwell, I realize now—you're not even as brave as a child."
At least Arthur could say he wanted Chloe as his mom.
Maxwell called her "friend."
He didn't understand. "What are you talking about?"
She gave a small laugh, turned her back, and closed her eyes.
His interest vanished; he left the room.
The click of the door echoed in the silence.
The next morning, the lawyer sent the divorce papers.
“Miss Wen, it's ready.”
“Thank you.”
Just then, Arthur came downstairs.
"Mom, my birthday party has to be grand this year. I want to invite someone really important."
She remembered—his birthday was near.
Lowering her gaze, she paused before agreeing.
It would be the last birthday she'd spend with him.
He beamed, slinging on his backpack and heading to school.
Once he was gone, she booked a plane ticket.
Three days later—on the night of his birthday—she would leave.