Chapter 3

I froze in shock.

Marcus's smartwatch lit up. He yelled, "Aunt Celeste, are you here yet? Hurry up—take me away."

There was a commotion at the entrance.

The sound of several car engines cut through the air.

Marcus flashed his little fangs, shooting me a smug grin. "You wouldn't read me a story? Don't worry, Aunt Celeste will tell me stories from now on."

Derek had been waiting nearby all along.

He was dressed in a sharply tailored black suit jacket, with Celeste clinging to his arm.

As soon as they walked over, Marcus threw himself into Celeste's arms. "Aunt Celeste, all the papers—the birth certificate and ID—are in her bag."

A wave of dizziness hit me.

My legs felt weak—I could barely stand.

Why?

Marcus was the baby I watched the doctors clean and place in my arms

He was my child. My son.

Once upon a time, when Derek and I stood together, people would always ask when we were getting married.

They'd said, "You two are a perfect match—your kids are going to be so cute."

Derek would gently kiss my cheek.

And then he'd laugh at how I blushed.

After I left, the person standing next to him became Celeste.

People said Celeste bore a passing resemblance to me.

But deep down, I knew Derek never loved me.

I couldn't believe love was supposed to feel like this.

I had long abandoned any hope of a happy ending with him a long time ago.

But why? Why did my son even have to choose them over me?

A violent surge of bitterness clawed its way up my throat, so intense I nearly gagged.

I gripped my suitcase handle, the only thing keeping me upright.

Derek frowned slightly, his tone still icy. "The bag. Don't make me do it myself."

I let out a bitter laugh, took the bag off my shoulder, and tossed it over to him.

My compliance surprised him.

One of the maids next to him opened it, and sure enough, all the documents were there: the birth certificate, the household registration, and the ID.

Everything he needed was in the bag.

Marcus bounced with excitement. "Dad, so I got to live in the big house now?"

Derek nodded. For once, his eyes softened as he looked at Marcus.

I was caught off guard—and honestly, a little sickened.

"And Aunt Celeste can tell me bedtime stories too, right?" Marcus piped up.

"Of course," Derek replied.

But I caught the faintest flicker of displeasure in Celeste's expression before she masked it.

Marcus ran over and shoved me hard. "You're not my mommy anymore; I've got a new mommy now."

I seemed to be numb from the pain, feeling nothing. Something within me had completely vanished.

A new mommy, huh?

I sneered inwardly. I couldn't wait to see how much Celeste was willing to put up with her precious "stepson."

With a cold resolve, I took Marcus back to the house to pack up his things.

He turned his nose up at everything. "I don't want this, I don't want that," he said.

"My new mommy will buy me better stuff anyway," Marcus added.

So I tossed everything straight into the trash.

Even the photos we took together.

We took photos every single year, from the day he was born until he turned six.

Marcus watched me do it, then suddenly looked up. "Mommy, aren't you keeping these?"

Keeping these? Why should I?

Maybe Marcus was used to this kind of unconditional love.

I smiled at him and said, "Why would I? I'm not your mother anymore. They'd take up space."

Marcus seemed genuinely confused for a moment.

He stared at me, confused.

Then Marcus stomped his foot and let out a huff.

"You're right!" Marcus pouted. "You're not my mommy anyway."

After packing up his stuff, I dropped him off in Derek's car.

Marcus was practically bouncing with excitement.

Neither of us looked back for a final glance.

From now on, he was Marcus Garrett.

I called Katelyn. "Katelyn. You can hook me up with a death certificate, right?"

"Damn, you're going for it," Katelyn exclaimed.

"I'm done with everything. I need a fresh start," I replied.

"No problem. When's the big day? Give me a week; it's best to do it properly," Katelyn said.

I paused, thinking it over.

A week should be enough.

"Next Wednesday," I said.

That happened to be Marcus's birthday.

I wanted him to remember, every year when he blew out his candles, that it was the day his birth mother died.

I threw myself onto the bed, finally feeling like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

Then, belatedly, a sharp, tearing pain bloomed in my chest.

I had spent the last six years raising Marcus in this house.

He had never been an easy kid.

Before he turned two, he cried day and night. I forgot what a full night's sleep felt like, trying to soothe him.

He was clingy, demanding constant attention. In the end, I gave up everything I loved to keep him company.