Chapter 2
The next day, Ryan came to the house and watched me sign the divorce papers. "Mr. Carter will be home tonight," he said curtly before he left.
When Samuel heard the news, he shot off the couch like a rocket, grabbing my hand.
"Mommy, it's Uncle Edward's birthday! You convinced him to come celebrate with us, right?"
I couldn't crush that joy. So I cooked every single dish Edward loved.
By 9 p.m., I was trying to convince Samuel to eat. But he just shook his head.
"No, I have to wait for him. It only tastes good if we all eat together like a family!"
It wasn't until two in the morning that Edward finally came home.
Samuel, who had been dozing weakly on the sofa, shot up at the sound of the key in the lock and raced to the door.
He chirped. "Uncle Edward, you're back! Happy birthday!"
Edward, reeking of alcohol, scowled.
"How old are you? Can't you tell time? It's past midnight. The birthday's over."
Samuel pouted, his face falling, but he still carefully held out a small, lumpy object with both hands.
"Uncle Edward, this is for you. I made it. Do you like it?"
"Grace, why is he so goddamn soft?" Edward sneered.
His gaze dripped with disgust as he looked at the little clay figure in Sam's hands.
"A clay doll? What am I supposed to do with this? You really think I'm going to carry this around?"
I saw Samuel fighting back tears, and my voice trembled.
"He waited all night for you, Edward. He hasn't eaten a single bite..."
"Who said I was coming home for dinner?" he snapped.
He went to toss his keys on the table but stopped, his gesture changing. He placed them down gently, as if they were precious.
Hanging from the keychain was a pink doll. I saw it in Chloe's hands just yesterday.
Samuel saw it, too. He looked down at the clumsy figure in his own hands and bit his lip hard.
Rage, hot and sharp, flared through me. I grabbed his hand and held it up for Edward to see.
"Do you have any idea how long he worked on this for you, Edward? Look at his hands! Look at all the little cuts!"
For a second, Edward hesitated, his eyes flickering to our son's fingers.
They were covered in tiny nicks and scratches. Embarrassed, Samuel pulled his hand away and hid it behind his back.
"It's okay," he whispered. "As long as Uncle Edward likes it, it doesn't matter."
"I don't like it," Edward said flatly.
With four words, he crushed our son's heart.
"A boy shouldn't be doing this crap. Samuel, this is just you trying to be emotional. It's pathetic. I don't like it. At all."
"Uncle Edward, what does 'pathetic' mean?" Samuel asked.
He didn't understand the word, but he understood "I don't like it." The tears he had been holding back finally broke free, and he started to sob.
The sound only made Edward more irritated.
"Look at him, Grace. So weak. What the hell have you been teaching him all these years?"
I held Samuel, who was trying desperately to stifle his sobs, and watched Edward start to pack a suitcase.
"You really can't wait to leave, can you?" I snapped. "Our son hasn't eaten, and you can't even be bothered to ask if he's okay?"
Edward didn't even look up.
"I never said I was coming home for dinner. I didn't force you to wait. That was your choice. Don't pin it on me."
All these years, every ounce of love we had given him had been a one-sided delusion. He felt nothing for us.
"Uncle Edward, don't be mad," Samuel whispered. "I just... I wanted us to eat together. The three of us."
"Sammy, stay out of adult business. Go to bed. Now."
Edward zipped the suitcase. I grabbed his arm.
"Edward, you can't go! Sammy's sick! He..." I blurted out.
Before I could finish, his phone rang.
He ripped his arm from my grasp to answer it, and a sweetly childish voice echoed through the silent room.
"Daddy, come home! Mommy's not feeling well!"
Beside Edward, Samuel clutched his rejected gift, the hope in his eyes fading.