Zeke's mother's smile was warm—almost gentle—so unlike how she looked at me. But the moment her eyes landed on my face, the warmth vanished, replaced by the same cold resentment I'd come to expect.

She pulled Dylan behind her, shielding him.

"What are you doing here? Trying to hurt my precious grandson?" Her voice was shrill. "Even if you shamelessly refuse to divorce, you can't change his blood. Dylan and Zia will be parts of our family. And you? After making my son suffer for all these years, our family does not recognize you as a daughter-in-law."

I let out a bitter laugh, not knowing how to respond.

Dylan glanced longingly at the biscuit in my hand. Without a word, she snatched it away.

I hadn't flinched when I first learned of Zeke's affair. Not even when Zia came to confront me. But this time, I ran.

Because I hadn't eaten dinner, the stomach pains came back.

Curled up in bed, the agony blurred my senses. My fingers moved on their own, dialing a number I'd called more times than I could count.

It wasn't long before warm water and a pill touched my lips.

Time rewound, just for a moment, to the days when we were still in love. Whenever my stomach acted up, he would be there—first to arrive, first to offer relief. I later found out he always carried a little pill case in the pocket closest to his heart.

Just like now, he reached instinctively into his shirt, poured several pills into my hand. "You forgot to buy medicine again, didn't you? I still have plenty."

"Even if I'm not around," he said gently, "you have to take care of yourself."

Tears burst from my eyes.

"I don't want the medicine," I sobbed. "I just want you. I want you, not the pills. Please, don't leave me."

He held me tight. "Okay, okay. I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay. I'll always stay. I know you didn't mean the divorce stuff. You were just angry. I would never divorce you."

Zeke kissed my forehead. His voice was soft, and it quieted the storm inside me.

He told me he had been driving home when he got my call, and he turned around immediately.

He told me I was still the one he cared about most.

So we lay there, talking like we used to—like newlyweds wrapped in a sugar-sweet dream.

Curled in his arms, I thought: if this were a dream, I'd never want to wake up.

But then, a child coughed outside the room. His eyes flicked toward the door.

"Zia and Dylan are still outside," he said, avoiding my gaze. "Should I let them in?"

I froze.

And just like that, the dream shattered.

The door opened.

Zia stepped in, holding Dylan's hand.

In the dim light, I looked at her closely for the first time.

Her hair flowed down her back. She wore a trendy spaghetti-strap maxi dress I wouldn't have dared to wear even in my youth.

She was young, stylish, vibrant.

And me? I was a mess from writhing in pain just moments ago. Disheveled. Drained.

Zeke used to say he liked intellectual women. Said my writing was beautiful, that I aged like fine wine.

But here he was, doting on a pretty young thing.

As Zia stepped through the doorway, she tripped on a slipper.

Zeke rushed to catch her—didn't hesitate, didn't look back. And I, without his support, collapsed back onto the bed.

The pills fell from his hands, clattering to the floor—abandoned, so he could steady her.

She gave me a quick, apologetic smile. "Carrie, I assume Zeke already told you? We didn't mean to bother you so late. But it's about Dylan—it's urgent."

I stared blankly at Zeke.

Told me?

Wasn't he here tonight just to bring me medicine?

"It's nothing big," she said, as if clarifying would help. "We just need you to take care of Dylan."

"Dylan's about to start elementary school? Don't you own a place in that school district? It's one of the best schools in the area. You like living over there anyway—wouldn't it be perfect for helping take care of him?"

I stared at Zeke's mouth opening and closing, my entire body trembling in disbelief.

That apartment had been left to me by my mother, who passed away far too soon. It was a cramped little place where he and I had weathered the hardest years of our lives together. The home we once dreamed we'd return to in old age. And now, he wanted that same home to house the child of the woman who had shattered my heart—and he wanted me to take care of their son?

I could barely breathe. The ache in my stomach was nothing compared to the pain radiating from my chest.

"Not a chance. That place is mine. Even if I gave it away, I'd never let the child of a mistress live there—"

I didn't even get to finish. Zeke cut me off sharply. "Do you even hear yourself? How can you say something like that in front of a child?"

He cupped Dylan's ears with his hands, his eyes filled with worry as he looked over at Zia.

She looked pale, tears brimming in her eyes. "Zeke… you didn't tell her about this when you got out of the car to take that call, did you? You lied. You told me she already agreed to it. But really… you just came back to see her again, didn't you?

"Dylan is the child I had through IVF. I took injection after injection just to keep him safe… I won't let him be mistreated, not by anyone. If that's the case, then maybe it's better if Dylan and I leave the city. You should stay."

Her voice cracked as she broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.

Zeke wrapped her in his arms, his voice full of anguish. "You carried him for almost ten months. If I abandon you both now, what kind of man would that make me? Less than human.

"If she won't compromise on Dylan's education, then I'll buy another home in that school district. I'll put your and Dylan's names on the deed. This city is where you grew up. If someone's going to leave, it's not going to be you."

I blinked slowly, as if the weight of his words had dragged my heart to the bottom of a pit.

So, he wouldn't let Zia leave this city.

Which meant the one who had to go… was me.

I walked them to the door, the three of them now an unmistakable family. Before they left, I pressed the divorce papers into Zeke's hand.

"Let's not see each other anymore. Once you sign them, just send them back."

His pupils trembled. He grabbed my wrist suddenly, hard. "Don't joke around like this. People our age don't get divorced."

"Not often," I said quietly. "But it happens. Doesn't it?"

His expression shifted, a mixture of desperation and disbelief. "What will our former students think? Our colleagues—we work in the same office, for god's sake."

"That's your problem."

I pulled my wrist free and walked away without looking back.

We had once been brave enough to resist social pressure and choose a child-free life. Now, was I supposed to endure a loveless marriage just because of what others might think?

It was laughable.

We'd been married for twenty years and worked together for just as long.

When we first left home and came here, we were broke—surviving off odd jobs. We never complained. We worked hard together, pursued higher education, became professors, built a life—side by side, never apart.

But somewhere along the way, even though we were always together, we stopped having anything to say to each other.

No matter how hard I tried to go back to the way things were, I couldn't.

Even without him, life would go on.

I fell into a deep sleep. When I woke, I'd already missed the school shuttle.

Frustrated, I reached for my phone to rearrange my class schedule—only to spot Zeke's car idling at the curb.

He rolled down the window. "You've got an 8 a.m. today. If you don't hurry, you'll be late."

It was a key lecture this term. I couldn't afford to miss it.

So I got in.

He buckled my seatbelt with practiced ease. The scent from the car diffuser and the music playing were both exactly to my taste.

If I could ignore the mother and son sitting in the backseat, the moment would've been perfect—so perfect it almost didn't feel real.

"We're taking Dylan to check out the school today," he said. "If you'd like, you could spend some time with them."

"No. I've got class," I replied.

The moment we pulled up, I stepped out and walked away, not daring to linger. A second too long, and I knew the tears welling in my eyes would spill over.

But Zia wasn't about to let me go that easily. She brought Dylan into my class, sitting quietly in the back while I lectured.

Later, without a word, she dropped him off in my lab and vanished.

Dylan tore through the lab like a storm. Equipment knocked over, and pages of my painstakingly written research notes were ripped to shreds.

I grabbed his arm. "Apologize."

I didn't care to argue with a child, but I needed, at the very least, a simple apology.

He snorted. "Why should I? My mom said all your final research results will be hers anyway. As long as she cries, Dad gives us everything that is yours. I just broke my own stuff. Why should I say sorry?"

A sharp pain tightened in my chest. I struggled to breathe.

But it wasn't over. He pulled out a pill from who-knows-where, trying to pop it into his mouth.

I knew what it was.

Without thinking, I slapped the pill from his hand, sending it skittering across the floor.

"You can't just eat random things! Are you trying to die?!"

He dropped to the floor, bawling, a bright red handprint blooming across his cheek.

But that was nothing compared to what could've happened if he'd swallowed it.

Just as I was bending down to pick him up, trying to soothe him, Zia burst through the door and shoved me to the ground.

"How could you hit Dylan while I was gone?" she screamed. "I told you I had something urgent to take care of and asked you to watch him for just a while. I never thought you'd even lash out at a child."

Stunned, I looked at her—then at Zeke, who had followed her in.

"He was about to swallow a pill," I explained, breathless. "It was an emergency. If I hadn't slapped it away, he would've—"

"No!" Dylan interrupted. "Mommy told me not to eat random stuff. But bad lady tried to make me take it. She hit me when I wouldn't."

I stared at him in disbelief. Then I looked at Zeke.

I shook my head slowly.

He knew me better than anyone. I was a Christian. How could I possibly try to poison a child?

He bent down and picked the pill off the floor. "You're saying Dylan tried to eat this on his own?"

I nodded.

I thought he believed me.

But a second later, his palm slammed hard across my face.

The hope I had—the last remnants of dignity—shattered at my feet.

"This is one of our joint lab's experimental drugs," he said coldly. "We keep it locked in the freezer. If you hadn't opened it, how could Dylan have gotten his hands on it?"

My mouth went dry. The bitterness in my throat made it impossible to speak.

Meanwhile, Zia clung to Dylan, her voice rising in outrage as she threatened to report me to the police.

"Zeke, we were just discussing making her Dylan's godmother. And now look at what she's done! He's just a child. How could he lie? How could I ever let someone like her be Dylan's godmother? I have to protect my son!"

Zeke shoved the signed divorce papers into my hand but left a sliver of hope. "Apologize properly to them. Once things settle down, maybe I'll consider getting back together."

I gave a hollow laugh and carefully tucked the papers into my bag.

"No need," I said. "I never planned on starting over."