My best friend passed away from postpartum hemorrhage.

Ethan said he didn't want his child to grow up without a mother.

To repay my best friend for saving my life years ago, I became the child's mother.

I gave up my career and ambitions, willingly becoming a full-time housewife. For seven years, I cared for both father and son as if it were my life's mission.

Yet, he always remained distant, his tenderness surfacing only in the quiet intensity of late nights.

Afterward, he would hand me a few birth control pills.

On New Year's Eve, my throat felt strange. I swallowed the pills, only to immediately vomit them all out.

Ethan was furious and accused me of harboring ulterior motives.

As punishment, he locked me outside on the open balcony in the rain.

Our son came running with an umbrella in hand.

But he walked past me without a glance and handed it to the housekeeper who was heading out.

In that moment, I made up my mind—I would leave.

The first morning of the New Year.

Fighting the exhaustion of a high fever, I handed Ethan the divorce papers.

He frowned, displeased, and asked, "Is this because of last night's punishment?"

"Victoria, if you didn't overstep your boundaries, I wouldn't have punished you. You should learn to reflect on yourself," he said.

I suppressed the urge to defend myself. My voice was hoarse, but steady. "Just sign it."

"What about our son?"

"He was never my biological child. Of course, I won't fight for custody." I paused, then added, "And don't worry, I won't ask for any share of your assets. Consider that my contribution to his upbringing."

Ethan glanced up, slightly surprised. It was no wonder—after all, I'd always valued that child above everything else.

With a cold expression, he warned, "I advise you to stop this nonsense. If you keep pushing, there'll be no turning back."

He thought I was throwing a tantrum.

But what he didn't realize was that from the moment I decided on divorce, I had no intention of looking back.

Without further explanation, I took the signed papers and returned to my room.

As I packed my things, he stood at the door and said, "The formalities will take some time. There's no need to rush out right now."

I replied calmly, using the words he had once thrown at me, "No, it's better to cut cleanly and move on."

He said nothing more.

There was a lot to pack, but I only took what was necessary.

When I dragged my suitcase into the living room, Jack Maine was sitting on the couch reading a science journal.

At such a young age, he was already extremely disciplined, just like his father. And, like his father, he treated me with cold indifference.

Setting the book aside, he walked over, his expression impatient. "Are you really divorcing Dad?"

I nodded.

Though his face remained emotionless, I caught a flicker of delight in his eyes.

He spoke next in a tone of condescension, as though granting me a favor. "You're allowed to visit me in the future, but only once a month. Any more, and I'm afraid Casey will be upset."

Casey—Casey Rory—was Ethan's first love.

If it hadn't been for the Rory family's sudden downfall and their move overseas, Ethan would never have married my best friend.

Now that Casey was back in the country, the two had reconnected.

Lately, he often took Jack to see her.

Casey was a race car driver, and Jack thought she was cool and impressive.

What he didn't know was that I had once been the multi-year champion of the SCCA and IMSA racing championships.

He hated me so much that he never gave me a chance to play with him.

In the past, his admiration for Casey and disdain for me would've hurt. But now, my heart was calm, like a still lake.

Last night's events had opened my eyes completely.

You can't tame a wolf who's determined to bite.

Without sparing him a glance, I opened the door and left.

As I neared the gate, Ethan appeared.

"What's the rush? You haven't even found a place to stay, have you?"

I didn't respond as I stepped outside.

"Where are you planning to go? Let me call the driver for you," he offered.

"No need."

The rainstorm from last night had soaked me through, and my body was burning with fever. My head throbbed with pain, and every step felt heavier than the last.

Using what little strength I had left, I pushed myself through the gate.

But I didn't get far before my vision went black, and I collapsed.

When I woke again, I was in the hospital.

A kind woman who had been passing by had brought me here.

The doctor frowned as he reviewed my condition. "You're severely ill," he said. "Why isn't there a family member with you?"

"I'm sorry, doctor. I don't have any family."

For a moment, his face softened, filled with quiet sympathy.

I smiled wryly. Even a stranger could offer me kindness, yet the two people I had poured my heart and soul into for seven years had been nothing but cruel. For the first time, I realized how little those years had been worth.

After several IV drips, the fever finally broke. As soon as I was able, I left the hospital.

I wanted, more than anything, to take off on a spontaneous trip and clear my mind. But life wasn't some TV drama. For seven years, I hadn't worked, and Ethan had only ever given me enough money to buy groceries. I had barely saved any money.

I checked into a modest hotel for the time being. The next day, I called my old boss at the TV station.

Before getting married, I had been the most popular weather presenter at the station. Back then, when I decided to quit, my boss had tried to persuade me to stay, saying it was a shame to lose me.

But I was young and idealistic then, willing to give up my career for Ethan. I had believed, naively, that genuine love would be reciprocated.

Now, I was left with nothing.

I didn't expect much from the call, given I'd been away from the camera for seven years. But to my surprise, my former boss didn't hesitate. He arranged a meeting with the station director immediately.

Though I had spent the last several years caring for Ethan and his son, I had made time to exercise and maintain my figure. My old skills hadn't dulled much, either. After some discussion, the big boss decided to give me another chance.

Carrying my luggage, I moved into the apartment the station director had arranged for me. A week later, I was back at work.

On my first day returning to the screen, the ratings shattered the station's seven-year record.

The director was ecstatic and hosted a celebration in my honor.

When one of the younger presenters offered me a toast, I instinctively declined. "I'm sorry. I don't drink."

It wasn't until after I said it that I realized—no, I wasn't someone who didn't drink. I had given it up because of Ethan. He had told me he didn't like it, and so I had stopped.

But now I was divorced. His likes and dislikes no longer mattered to me.

I smiled and took the glass. "Just kidding. I can drink!"

With that, I tilted my head back and downed it in one go.

After a few rounds of drinks, I was starting to feel tipsy when my phone rang.

It was the police.

"Miss Victoria, we've located your nephew."

The words sobered me instantly. I grabbed a cab to the station without delay.

The moment I saw the little boy, tears welled up in my eyes.

Blood ties are a strange and powerful thing.

The child was the spitting image of my younger brother when he was small.

The police confirmed it, too. After running DNA tests, they determined he was indeed my brother's missing son.

Years ago, my sister-in-law had taken Caleb to the park. She turned away for just a moment to buy him some cotton candy, and when she looked back, he was gone.

She was overcome with guilt and grief. Ten days later, unable to bear it any longer, she took her own life.

My brother was devastated. Losing his wife and child in quick succession aged him overnight. I could still remember how he cried like a lost child, and the sight of it tore at my heart.

At the time, Jack was just three years old. He clung to me, refusing to let go, crying unless I held him.

But I had to help my brother search for Caleb, so I left Jack in his grandmother's care.

A month later, someone reported seeing a child who resembled Caleb in a nearby town. My brother rushed there, only to discover the child's gender didn't even match.

He returned heartbroken and distracted, and one day, he slipped and fell into a river. He drowned.

Not long after, the police told me human traffickers had taken a bunch of children, attempting to smuggle them to the U.S. But the ship they were on capsized, and all on board were presumed dead.

"All the passengers perished. Your nephew must have been among them..."

And with that, the trail went cold.

For years, I thought I had lost everyone. Ethan and Jack were the only family I had left.

Until now.

After settling the matters at hand, I went to pick up Jack from his grandmother's house. But I hadn't expected that when he saw me, he wouldn't run to me, calling out in his soft, babyish voice, "Mom." He didn't remember me anymore. Later, when he started school and mingled with classmates, he grew even more distant. He complained that I wasn't like the other mothers—successful and admirable. He said I didn't have a "real job."

The police officer's voice jolted me out of my thoughts.

As it turned out, Caleb had been clever enough to hide in a trash bin and escape. He never boarded that ill-fated ship. A homeless man had found him and taken him in, and the two had relied on each other all these years. Recently, after the old man passed away, someone discovered Caleb living alone and reported it to the authorities. That's how they found him.

Caleb was dark-skinned, frail, and timid, his demeanor utterly heart-wrenching. I knelt down, gently stroking his small head. "Don't be scared. I'm your aunt."

He blinked up at me, his eyes darting, as if trying to make sense of everything.

"From now on, you'll never go hungry or cold again. You'll live with me."

His mother had been an orphan, so there were no grandparents on her side. That made me Caleb's only living family. I brought him home, cleaned him up, and dressed him in new clothes.

When I held his tiny hands, I noticed they were covered in chilblains. I fetched the first-aid kit and applied medicine to his wounds as gently as I could. The little guy was tough. Even though it clearly hurt, he didn't make a sound.

I put on a cartoon for him. "Watch this for a while. I'll go make you a sandwich."

When I came back with the plate, I found him fast asleep. As I covered him with a soft blanket, he woke up.

The sight triggered a memory—Jack, when he was little, had woken up just like that. He'd cling to my neck, slow and sleepy, like a baby sloth. He was unbearably adorable.

Unable to resist, I pulled Caleb into my arms. But instead of hugging my neck as Jack used to, he reached up and touched my face.

Snapping out of my thoughts, I whispered, "Caleb, I'm your aunt. From now on, this is your home, and we'll live together."

The little boy tilted his head back to look at me, his eyes shining. "Aunt? Why aren't you my mom?"

"I am your dad's sister, not your mom," I explained. "Do you want to see your mom?"

He nodded, and I held him as I pulled out old photographs, showing him each one and recounting the stories behind them. When we finished, he suddenly leaned over and kissed my cheek. In his sweet, childish voice, he called me "Auntie."

In that moment, I felt my heart melt completely.

Caleb was old enough for school but had never attended one. I quickly contacted a kindergarten and got him enrolled. To my relief, he adjusted easily, unlike Jack, who had cried and resisted for days.

Our lives gradually found a rhythm, and Caleb and I grew closer. I enjoyed making snacks in my free time, and the things Jack used to scorn, Caleb ate with delight.

One day, as I was preparing a sandwich for him, my phone rang. It was Ethan.

His voice was raspy, as if he'd just woken up. "There's a mall opening ceremony tomorrow."

Out of habit, I rattled off what outfit matched which accessories and even pointed out the exact location in his wardrobe. But the moment the words left my mouth, I fell silent. I realized I had been doing this on autopilot for years.

On the other end, I could hear the faint sounds of him rummaging through his closet. He stayed quiet, seemingly lost in thought.

Finally, I broke the silence. "If that's all, I'll hang up now."

Suddenly, he asked, "Do you want to come with me tomorrow?"

I couldn't help but feel a pang of bitterness. Back when we were married, I had begged him to take me to events like this, and he never once agreed. Now that we were divorced, what was the point?

"I won't go. And from now on, don't call me again. Call your stylist or your housekeeper. Just don't call me. We're divorced now, remember?"