"Forget that dead-end job. Just quit—I'll take care of you, okay?"

A chill spread from somewhere deep in my chest. I couldn't feel his warmth anymore.

A sudden ringtone shattered the eerie silence between us.

It was Herbert.

"Uncle, my mommy just fainted! She's at the hospital, and I don't have anywhere to go, and I haven't eaten, and I'm so hungry..."

The boy's tearful little voice sent Herman into a tailspin.

His brow furrowed.

"Don't be scared. I'm coming to get you right now!"

He was already moving—shoes on the wrong feet, a shirt snatched off the back of a chair—and then he was out the door.

He didn't look back until he was already in the hallway.

"Something came up with the kid. I need to go handle it."

Not long after he left, a new post appeared on Janet's social media. The photo had a hospital room in the background.

The caption read: Rare family time. Someone's cooking is as amazing as ever.

In the picture, Herman and Herbert sat side by side at the edge of the hospital bed, feeding her. Another shot showed Herman's back as he stood at a counter, chopping vegetables, preparing a meal.

So this was what he meant by "no feelings."

Cold-faced, yet doing everything a husband would do.

I laughed bitterly and turned off my phone.

Before long, Herman came back with Herbert in tow.

"Her condition flared up again. He's staying with us tonight."

Herbert stood timidly behind him.

The boy had stayed with me plenty of times before, using the excuse that he had nowhere else to go. But he'd never warmed up to me. Not once.

I used to wonder why he kept his distance.

Now I understood. There had always been a reason.

I pressed a hand against my lower abdomen, where a dull ache was pulling downward, and tested the waters.

"I'm not feeling great tonight either. Maybe you could—"

I didn't even finish before his brows snapped together.

"You're a kindergarten teacher. Do you refuse to look after your students at school every time you feel a little under the weather?"

The self-righteous look on his face hit me like a wall. In that instant, I could see exactly what my life would look like after adopting Herbert—the moment anything fell short of their expectations, this was the treatment I'd get.

I smiled, though there was nothing behind it but mockery aimed at myself.

Herman must have caught something in my expression, because he realized his tone had been too harsh. He lowered his voice.

"Sorry. Her mother was being difficult earlier, and I've been angry the whole drive back. I didn't rein it in."

There was a time when the slightest hint that I wasn't feeling well would've sent him into a panic. He would've hovered, refused to let me lift a finger.

Now he'd forgotten my cycle entirely. My discomfort didn't even register.

I said nothing and went back to the bedroom alone.

I hadn't been lying down long when a sharp crash came from the living room.

I rushed out. A layer of dark ash dusted the floor.

Herbert was still holding the lid of the urn. The body of it lay shattered across the tiles.

My eyes burned red in an instant.

"Who told you to go through my things?!"

He froze where he stood, startled by my outburst.

I snatched the lid from his hands and crouched down, reaching for the scattered ashes. That was when I heard a loud thud beside me.

He was on the floor, wailing like his life depended on it.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! Please don't hit me!"

I frowned and reached toward him to help him up, but his arms and legs flailed wildly, and one small foot connected squarely with my stomach.

The pain doubled me over. I lost my balance and hit the ground, shards slicing into my palms. Blood welled up instantly.

"What's going on?"

Herman emerged from the bedroom, and his eyes swept over both of us sprawled on the floor.

I reached out a hand, about to explain, but he stepped right past me and scooped up the sobbing, hiccupping Herbert.

"She hit me..."

Herman's brow furrowed. He didn't so much as glance at my ashen face.

"I get that you don't like him, but was hitting him really necessary?"

I gritted my teeth against the pain and pointed at the ashes on the floor, stained red with my blood.

"I didn't touch him. I came out and found he'd smashed Biscuit's urn. All I did was take the lid out of his hand."

Herbert's wailing only grew louder.

"You're lying! You're a liar!"

I stared at him in disbelief.

"What are you talking about? I never—"

Before I could finish, a sharp crack split the air.

Herman's palm connected with my face.

His eyes were bloodshot.

"Still making excuses? He's a child. Children don't lie. You've been looking after him all this time, and you put your hands on him over a piece of junk? Was it really worth it?"

This man, who had never so much as raised his voice at me, had just struck me.

I pressed my hand to my cheek, staring at him in shock.

The burning sting across my face tangled with the cramping in my lower abdomen, each feeding the other.

But what hurt worse than any of it were his words.

When my parents were still alive, they'd had a golden retriever, a companion dog named Biscuit. The dog had died saving Herman, darting into the road and getting hit by a car before it could get clear. Herman had carved the headstone himself. He'd said he would never forget that the dog had saved his life. He'd said he would keep the ashes close, a companion for all the days to come.

And now he was calling Biscuit's remains junk.

Tears rolled down my face, heavy and fast. The man standing in front of me suddenly felt like a stranger. A terrifying one.

Something flickered in Herman's eyes. Regret, maybe. He opened his mouth, about to speak.

But Herbert threw himself into Herman's arms first.

"I don't want to stay here. I'm scared. I want my mommy."

Herman shot me one last sharp, cutting look, then scooped the boy up.

"Think about what you've done. I'm not coming home tonight."

And just like that, he walked out. He didn't glance down. He didn't notice the blood pooling beneath me.

The door slammed shut.

I laughed. I laughed until the tears came again.

Slowly, I pulled myself up and cleaned the mess. I picked up every scattered piece, wiped every surface, until the room looked like nothing had happened.

By the time I crawled back into bed, my phone was ringing. My brother.

"How've you been? When's the wedding? Your little niece even made you a present."

The ache in my chest was unbearable.

Herbert had been a transfer student Herman personally asked me to enroll. Each teacher only had one internal admission slot. Because of that, I'd had no choice but to turn down my brother when he asked me to get Lily Abbott into my class. I gave my only spot to Herbert instead.

Lily had to transfer to a school in the next city over. My brother and his wife had been commuting between two cities ever since.

And whenever Herbert's mother was busy, Herman would dump the boy on me. Sometimes he'd even rope my brother into helping out.

My brother and his wife had bent over backward to make things easier for Herman and me.

Now, knowing that the two of us had been unknowingly caring for an illegitimate child all this time, the pain carved deeper with every passing second.

I took a long breath.

"Hey... what if I told you I wasn't going to marry him? Would you think I was being reckless?"

My brother paused. When he spoke again, his voice was rougher than before.

"I know you don't make decisions lightly. If you're calling off the wedding, you have your reasons. Mom and Dad are gone. You and me, we're the closest family either of us has. Whatever you decide, I'm behind you. All the way."

The guilt crested. I couldn't hold it in anymore and broke down crying.

My brother sighed softly.

"It's okay. I'm here. If someone's giving you a hard time, you tell me. I'll handle it."

I smiled through the tears and shook my head.

"No, nothing like that. I just... miss you guys."

He let out a breath of relief.

He put Lily on the phone. She babbled at me for a few minutes, and then they said goodnight.

Over the days that followed, Herman didn't come home. He didn't call. He didn't send a single message.

Herbert stopped showing up to class.

The principal received a parent complaint alleging that I lacked professional conduct as a teacher. My pay was docked. On top of that, I was assigned several days of mandatory training shifts, a full notebook of class observation reports due each day, plus a handwritten copy of the entire faculty code of conduct.

I knew exactly who was behind it.

When the last day of that punishment finally ended, I could breathe again.

With trembling, swollen fingers, I opened Janet Hayward's social media.

One week. The amusement park, home, tutoring classes, the movies.

A happy little family of three, picture-perfect and warm.

And in that moment, I knew with absolute clarity that it was time to end it all.

I prepared everything: the bank card with the engagement fund, the paternity test results, my medical report, and the surveillance audio from the school on parent-teacher conference day.

Early Saturday morning, I invited Herman's family and my brother and sister-in-law to a farewell dinner to discuss the wedding.

We waited at the restaurant for a long time. Herman never showed.

I called seven times. He didn't pick up until the last one.

Before I could even speak, I heard a child crying in the background.

"Can you stop rushing me? If you can't wait, just eat first. We already settled the wedding plans. What's there to even talk about?"

I paused. Whatever shred of dignity remained between us had just been ripped away.

My brother's expression darkened.

I said nothing and hung up.

The atmosphere at the table turned awkward.

His parents rushed to smooth things over.

"He's a doctor, you know. Always busy. Let's just eat."

I didn't respond. My resolve only hardened.

As I picked up my chopsticks, a message popped up on my phone.

Sorry, there was an emergency patient just now. I was in a rush. I'll be right there.

I didn't reply.

It wasn't the first time he'd used "being in a rush" as an excuse to hurt me.

Half an hour later, Herman finally arrived.

He had Herbert with him.

"His parents had something to do, so I'm watching him. Figured I'd bring him along for the meal."

He caught my blank expression and furrowed his brow slightly.

As he sat down, he leaned close to my ear and whispered, "I've already let the other day slide, so don't push it. Order some of the kid's favorites."

"I'm trying to smooth things over between you two. The least you could do is not sit there with that look on your face."

I looked at him in silence.

I'd planned to handle this with some grace. I hadn't expected him to be this shameless.

A cold laugh slipped out of me. I tucked the paternity test between the pages of the menu and slid it across to him.

"Sure, why not. This is a farewell dinner anyway. The more the merrier. Order whatever you want."

"And if you think we're short on guests, you could always invite his mother too. After all, the father and son are both here. Wouldn't it be wrong to leave Mom out?"