Chapter 2

The next morning, the sun was shining bright. I was in the kitchen, humming a tune as I fried up Tyler's favorite cartoon-shaped eggs, apron tied around my waist.

Clark came downstairs yawning. There was a hint of perfume on his collar, and it definitely wasn't mine.

He glanced at Tyler, who was sitting at the table, waiting to be fed and complaining that his milk wasn't sweet enough. Then he looked at me and asked in his usual tone, "Why are you up so early today?"

I placed the bunny-shaped egg on Tyler's plate and looked up at him with a smile, my eyes curved. "I suddenly realized that being a mom means giving it my all. Maybe I was holding him back too much before."

I reached out and ruffled Tyler's hair, my touch full of affection. "Tyler, you need to eat more and grow up strong. Whatever you want to play. Whatever you want to do, Mom will always support you."

Tyler's eyes lit up, his voice sweet but bossy. "Mom, I don't want to go to kindergarten today. I want to buy that new giant robot. Justin's dad bought it for him."

Normally, I'd try to talk him out of it, maybe negotiate until he agreed to wait for the weekend.

But today, I gave Clark a helpless, sympathetic look and frowned slightly. "If he doesn't want to go, that's fine. He rarely asks for anything. Is that robot pricey?"

Clark was scrolling through his phone, barely paying attention. He waved his hand dismissively. "Then buy it. It's normal for boys to like robots. Missing a day of kindergarten won't hurt."

"Thank you, Dad. Mom, you're the best." Tyler cheered, planting a greasy kiss on my cheek.

I let Tyler kiss me, my smile perfect and unbreakable. But deep down, my heart felt like a stagnant pond, slowly coated in a layer of oily scum.

*****

The robot was massive, almost as tall as Tyler, and cost a whole year's salary for an average family.

Tyler was super excited and played with it all morning, but by the afternoon, he got bored and tore it apart, leaving bits and pieces everywhere.

I had the housekeeper clean it up and didn't say a word about it.

That evening, I told Clark I was taking Tyler to the park to let him blow off some steam.

It was the first time I'd ever taken Tyler out alone, but instead of the park, I headed straight for a private detective agency hidden in the old part of town. The place looked worn down and discreet.

The man who greeted me was named Cristian Gomez. His gaze was sharp, like a hawk sizing up its prey, but he wasn't much of a talker.

I slid a thick envelope across the table. Inside was some basic info on Clark and the scant clues I'd managed to dig up about the possible woman in the picture.

Clark had been traveling a lot lately. He always carried the scent of a certain perfume that wasn't mine, and his call history showed several unmarked numbers, with calls way too long to be business.

"I want to know everything," I said, my voice steady. "Who is the woman he's seeing? When did it start?

"And." I took a deep breath. "I want the records from five years ago, April 17th, early morning, at the hospital. Every woman who delivered in the same ward as I did, or right before or after me, and all the information on their children."

Cristian gave me a long, searching look. He didn't ask anything, just nodded and took the envelope and the materials.

By the time we left the agency, the city lights were starting to flicker on. Tyler was fussing for KFC, so I took his hand and led him across the street to the bright, glowing fast-food sign.

The glass windows reflected our figures, making us look like the closest mother and son in the world.

I wiped the ketchup from the corner of his mouth, watching him devour his fried chicken, thinking to myself, 'Go on. Eat as much as you want. Junk food is the best thing for a mistress's son.'

Three days later, Cristian called. We met at a more secluded coffeehouse.

"Clark's mistress is named Tanya Norman. She's twenty-seven, used to be a singer at the Enchantress Bar, and now she's nominally on the payroll at a small trading company.

"Clark's the one supporting her. They've been together for nearly seven years." Cristian slid a few candid photos across the table.

The woman in the photos looked young, with wavy curls, flawless makeup, and a slender figure. She had her arm linked with Clark's, her smile as bright as a flower.

In one shot, she was clearly pregnant, her belly obvious, and Clark's hand was resting gently on it. The tenderness in his eyes was something I'd never seen before.

Seven years. So, not long after we got married, they were already together.

My stomach clenched painfully, but I forced myself to keep it together, my fingers lingering on Tanya's face in the photo.

"About the birth records." Cristian paused, pulling out a sheet of paper. "These are the hospital's logs from April 16th to 18th that year. No one in your room matched.

"But half an hour after you, there was a woman named Luna Norman who gave birth to a baby boy. Her registration was sketchy. She used a fake ID and a bogus address.

"The hospital's management was a mess back then, so things slipped through the cracks."

Luna. Tanya. Both with the same surname.

I stared at that 'Norman' name, my eyes burning from dryness. "Can you find this Luna?"

"It's tough. The info's all fake." Cristian handed over a blurry copy. It looked like it came from some dusty old archive. "But I dug through the orphanage's records for abandoned babies that year.

"On the morning of April 18th, the orphanage took in a healthy baby boy, about a day old, no ID, nothing to say who he belonged to. The timing matches up with your delivery and Luna's discharge from the hospital."

The orphanage. My own son was left there like he was nothing but garbage nobody wanted.

It felt like a hole had been torn open in my chest, cold wind rushing in and freezing me from the inside out. I clenched my fists so hard that my nails dug into my palms, the sharp sting keeping me grounded.

"Where is he now?" I asked.

"He's still at that orphanage, registered as 07-0418. The staff there gave him a name: Caleb Stone."

Stone, a stone that had been tossed away.

My real son spent five years in a place with no name, no birthday, no parents, living like a stone that had been cast aside.