Chapter 1 · He Chose New Mom, Now He Regrets

The day after his high school admission test, my son laid it all out for me.

"Mom, I want to go live with Dad," he said.

"Why?" I asked.

He kept his head down and mumbled, "Dad's place is way better, and honestly, I love Dad more."

I'd raised him for fourteen years, carrying everything on my own.

In contrast, his dad only gave him a pair of sneakers for the holidays, and that was enough for my son to love him more.

I didn't cry. I just smiled and nodded.

When my ex-husband and his mistress opened the door, smug smiles were plastered all over their faces.

They said, "Finally, this is how it should be. The kid was just having a rough time with you."

A month later, my son texted me late at night. "Mom, can you come pick me up?"

I only replied with two words: "Get lost."

*****

After Michael Reed finished his high school admission test, I was waiting for him right outside the school gate.

The June sun was blazing, so I put up my umbrella and carried his favorite iced watermelon juice.

He walked over, but didn't take the juice.

"Mom, let's talk when we get home," Michael said.

I smiled and tucked the bottle into my bag.

He barely said a word on the way home. I figured he probably didn't do well on the exam, so I didn't press him.

When we got home, he tossed his backpack onto the couch and stood in the middle of the living room, looking like he'd made up his mind.

"Mom, I need to talk to you about something," Michael said.

"Go ahead," I replied.

"I want to go live with Dad."

I was pouring water, but the cup froze halfway.

"Why?" I asked.

He kept his head down, refusing to meet my eyes. "Dad's place is way better. He said he'd get me into the best high school and even bought me a computer."

"Is that really all?"

He was silent for a few seconds.

Then he added, "And...I love Dad more."

Those six words hit me like a knife to the heart.

I set the cup down, my hand steady.

It had been fourteen years.

When Michael was eight months old, I walked out of the marriage with nothing but him in my arms. Then I rented a tiny 130-square-foot room in a run-down tenement.

A few years later, I scraped together every penny and finally bought this old, cramped apartment.

When the heating couldn't keep us warm in winter, I gave him my own blanket to make sure he was cozy.

When he burned with a fever of 104°F, I rushed him to the hospital three times in the middle of the night.

When he needed money for school, I worked at the supermarket during the day and scrubbed dishes at a restaurant at night to pay his tuition.

I did it all on my own for fourteen years.

In contrast, his dad, Richard Reed, only sent him a pair of sneakers for the holidays, sent him 200 dollars for his birthday, and gave him a video call from time to time, asking how he's doing.

And that was enough for Michael to love him more.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Michael replied.

He finally looked up at me, and there was something in his eyes I'd never seen before.

It wasn't guilt. It was relief.

It seemed that he'd finally let out a secret he'd been holding in for ages.

I smiled. "Alright."

"You're really okay with this?" Michael asked, looking shocked.

"You're fourteen now. You can make your own choices. I won't hold you back."

He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, but all that came out was, "Thanks."

I had raised him for fourteen years, and now he said "thanks" to me.

It was like I'd finally granted a wish he'd been waiting for forever.

*****

That night, I couldn't sleep.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. His childhood voice kept replaying in my ears.

When he was three, he threw his arms around my neck and said, "Mom, you're the best."

When he was five, he drew a picture in kindergarten, with scrawled letters that read, "I love Mom."

When he was ten, his classmates teased him for not having a dad. He came home, hugged me tight, and cried, "I don't need a dad, as long as I have you."

Now he was fourteen.

He said he loved his dad more.

At two in the morning, I got up for some water and passed by Michael's room.

The door was slightly open, and I could hear the sound of a video call coming from inside.

It was Richard's voice.

"Don't worry, I've got everything ready for you here. Aunt Linda is really looking forward to having you over," Richard said.

Michael's voice was low. "I told Mom, and she said yes."

"That's good. It's about time. You'd only be suffering if you stayed with her," Richard said.

Michael didn't say anything back.

I stood in the doorway and listened to them talk, feeling like an outsider.

No. I was not an outsider.

I was the one who got cast aside.

I turned and went back to my bedroom, closing the door behind me.

I didn't cry.

My tears had dried up fourteen years ago.

*****

Early the next morning, Michael started packing his things.

He moved fast, like he'd played this scene out in his head over and over again.

He took his clothes, textbooks, basketball, and the tablet Richard had given him last year.

Not a single thing I'd ever given him made it into his bag.

Not even the silver bracelet I spent two months' wages on for his twelfth birthday.

It was still sitting in the drawer of his desk.

"Mom, Dad's coming to pick me up this afternoon," Michael said.

"Okay," I replied.

"Aren't you going to see me off?"

I looked at him.

He was fourteen, almost as tall as I already was. He had his dad's looks, with sharp, striking features and thin lips.

"You're leaving. Do you really need me to see you off?"

He bit his lip and stayed quiet.

*****

At three in the afternoon, I heard two honks from downstairs.

I looked out the window.

A black Audi was parked right outside the building.

Richard got out, looking sharp in his suit. He'd put on some weight since the divorce, but he seemed in good spirits.

Linda was in the passenger seat, her hair styled in big waves, sunglasses on. She didn't even step out of the car.

Michael grabbed his suitcase and walked to the door, glancing back at me. "Mom, I'm leaving."

"Okay, be careful on the way," I replied.

He turned and walked out the door.

I could hear his footsteps fading away down the hallway.

The building door slammed shut behind him.

I walked over to the window and watched him step out of the building.

Richard took his suitcase, patted his shoulder, and grinned brightly.

Linda rolled down the window and waved at Michael.

Michael bent down and got into the back seat.

The car door closed.

From start to finish, he didn't look back even once.

Not even a single glance.

Chapter 1

The day after his high school admission test, my son laid it all out for me.

"Mom, I want to go live with Dad," he said.

"Why?" I asked.

He kept his head down and mumbled, "Dad's place is way better, and honestly, I love Dad more."

I'd raised him for fourteen years, carrying everything on my own.

In contrast, his dad only gave him a pair of sneakers for the holidays, and that was enough for my son to love him more.

I didn't cry. I just smiled and nodded.

When my ex-husband and his mistress opened the door, smug smiles were plastered all over their faces.

They said, "Finally, this is how it should be. The kid was just having a rough time with you."

A month later, my son texted me late at night. "Mom, can you come pick me up?"

I only replied with two words: "Get lost."

*****

After Michael Reed finished his high school admission test, I was waiting for him right outside the school gate.

The June sun was blazing, so I put up my umbrella and carried his favorite iced watermelon juice.

He walked over, but didn't take the juice.

"Mom, let's talk when we get home," Michael said.

I smiled and tucked the bottle into my bag.

He barely said a word on the way home. I figured he probably didn't do well on the exam, so I didn't press him.

When we got home, he tossed his backpack onto the couch and stood in the middle of the living room, looking like he'd made up his mind.

"Mom, I need to talk to you about something," Michael said.

"Go ahead," I replied.

"I want to go live with Dad."

I was pouring water, but the cup froze halfway.

"Why?" I asked.

He kept his head down, refusing to meet my eyes. "Dad's place is way better. He said he'd get me into the best high school and even bought me a computer."

"Is that really all?"

He was silent for a few seconds.

Then he added, "And...I love Dad more."

Those six words hit me like a knife to the heart.

I set the cup down, my hand steady.

It had been fourteen years.

When Michael was eight months old, I walked out of the marriage with nothing but him in my arms. Then I rented a tiny 130-square-foot room in a run-down tenement.

A few years later, I scraped together every penny and finally bought this old, cramped apartment.

When the heating couldn't keep us warm in winter, I gave him my own blanket to make sure he was cozy.

When he burned with a fever of 104°F, I rushed him to the hospital three times in the middle of the night.

When he needed money for school, I worked at the supermarket during the day and scrubbed dishes at a restaurant at night to pay his tuition.

I did it all on my own for fourteen years.

In contrast, his dad, Richard Reed, only sent him a pair of sneakers for the holidays, sent him 200 dollars for his birthday, and gave him a video call from time to time, asking how he's doing.

And that was enough for Michael to love him more.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Michael replied.

He finally looked up at me, and there was something in his eyes I'd never seen before.

It wasn't guilt. It was relief.

It seemed that he'd finally let out a secret he'd been holding in for ages.

I smiled. "Alright."

"You're really okay with this?" Michael asked, looking shocked.

"You're fourteen now. You can make your own choices. I won't hold you back."

He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, but all that came out was, "Thanks."

I had raised him for fourteen years, and now he said "thanks" to me.

It was like I'd finally granted a wish he'd been waiting for forever.

*****

That night, I couldn't sleep.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. His childhood voice kept replaying in my ears.

When he was three, he threw his arms around my neck and said, "Mom, you're the best."

When he was five, he drew a picture in kindergarten, with scrawled letters that read, "I love Mom."

When he was ten, his classmates teased him for not having a dad. He came home, hugged me tight, and cried, "I don't need a dad, as long as I have you."

Now he was fourteen.

He said he loved his dad more.

At two in the morning, I got up for some water and passed by Michael's room.

The door was slightly open, and I could hear the sound of a video call coming from inside.

It was Richard's voice.

"Don't worry, I've got everything ready for you here. Aunt Linda is really looking forward to having you over," Richard said.

Michael's voice was low. "I told Mom, and she said yes."

"That's good. It's about time. You'd only be suffering if you stayed with her," Richard said.

Michael didn't say anything back.

I stood in the doorway and listened to them talk, feeling like an outsider.

No. I was not an outsider.

I was the one who got cast aside.

I turned and went back to my bedroom, closing the door behind me.

I didn't cry.

My tears had dried up fourteen years ago.

*****

Early the next morning, Michael started packing his things.

He moved fast, like he'd played this scene out in his head over and over again.

He took his clothes, textbooks, basketball, and the tablet Richard had given him last year.

Not a single thing I'd ever given him made it into his bag.

Not even the silver bracelet I spent two months' wages on for his twelfth birthday.

It was still sitting in the drawer of his desk.

"Mom, Dad's coming to pick me up this afternoon," Michael said.

"Okay," I replied.

"Aren't you going to see me off?"

I looked at him.

He was fourteen, almost as tall as I already was. He had his dad's looks, with sharp, striking features and thin lips.

"You're leaving. Do you really need me to see you off?"

He bit his lip and stayed quiet.

*****

At three in the afternoon, I heard two honks from downstairs.

I looked out the window.

A black Audi was parked right outside the building.

Richard got out, looking sharp in his suit. He'd put on some weight since the divorce, but he seemed in good spirits.

Linda was in the passenger seat, her hair styled in big waves, sunglasses on. She didn't even step out of the car.

Michael grabbed his suitcase and walked to the door, glancing back at me. "Mom, I'm leaving."

"Okay, be careful on the way," I replied.

He turned and walked out the door.

I could hear his footsteps fading away down the hallway.

The building door slammed shut behind him.

I walked over to the window and watched him step out of the building.

Richard took his suitcase, patted his shoulder, and grinned brightly.

Linda rolled down the window and waved at Michael.

Michael bent down and got into the back seat.

The car door closed.

From start to finish, he didn't look back even once.

Not even a single glance.