I married my vampire husband ten years ago and gave him a half-blood heir, abandoning my career as a painter to become a full-time mother.

Fortunately, my son inherited my talent. At just six years old, he held his first solo art exhibition, inspired by the theme "My Mother."

But he never let me attend, and he never let me see his paintings.

My husband said my presence would make Luke nervous---that I should stay home and do the housework as a good wife and mother, and wait for them to come back.

I told myself he was just young and didn't know better, that he was only pushing back against my discipline, not truly rejecting me.

Until the day I snuck into the gallery wearing a surgical mask pulled low.

In the center of the crowd, my husband held our son's hand while tenderly pulling a woman in a red dress into his arms. He turned to the guests and announced:

"This is Luke's mother---my wife."

The three of them stood together, beaming with perfect happiness.

And I---the one who'd stayed up all night setting up this exhibition---stood before the paintings while not a single person recognized me.

That was when I finally understood.

My seemingly gentle, caring vampire husband had long ago given our son a replacement mother.

And I was nothing more than the human nanny who'd served her purpose by producing an heir.

Iris's POV

I hid among the crowd, the world spinning around me.

My husband and my son greeted the woman in the red dress with warm smiles, standing together at the center of the crowd like the picture-perfect family.

Meanwhile, I stood with a surgical mask pulled low, invisible as a stranger.

Lucien and Luke were still wearing the suits I'd ironed for them. I'd tied their ties that morning.

Yet now, they were calling another woman "wife" and "Mom."

"My mom is so good to me. She encourages my art and never pressures me. She takes me on trips and walks all the time. Most of the paintings in this exhibition are about my mom."

My son flashed a bright, innocent grin, clinging to the woman's hand with complete trust.

At home, he'd never once smiled at me like that. All I ever got was cold indifference and impatience.

I'd thought it was because Luke was half-vampire, half-human---that the pressure of being different made him act that way toward me.

Now I knew the truth. There was another mother out there indulging his every whim.

"That's right, we go on family outings all the time so he can find inspiration in nature. My wife has always believed in nurturing through joy. She's poured her heart into cultivating our son's artistic talent. This family's happiness is all thanks to this selfless, devoted mother."

Lucien pulled the woman in the red dress closer, his eyes brimming with tenderness.

My entire body trembled. My nails dug into my palms until they nearly broke the skin.

It was Lucien who'd told me Luke's artistic talent shouldn't go to waste, that I should devote myself to nurturing it.

I was the one who'd stayed up countless nights contacting galleries, calling in favors from former colleagues, setting up the exhibition space until everything was perfect.

Yet Lucien and Luke never let me see the paintings. Every time I finished moving the easels and hanging the frames, they'd send me away, claiming I'd criticize a child's work and hurt Luke's feelings.

But I had never criticized his work. Even his basic brush-stroke exercises---I praised every single one.

Still, Luke refused to let me see his real pieces. The moment I got close, he'd become visibly agitated.

Lucien always said he was too busy to take me and Luke on trips together. The company was at a critical juncture, he couldn't get away.

I was always understanding. But then he'd turn around and tell our son: "Your mother said your fundamentals still need work. You should focus on practicing at home instead of getting ahead of yourself."

After that, Luke wouldn't speak to me for days, directing all his resentment at me.

Every time I tried to explain, Lucien would stop me. "I'm already too busy with work. I'm barely home. If Luke finds out it's because of me that he can't go on trips, he'll resent me."

Then he'd put his arm around me. "When Luke grows up, he'll understand. You're the one by his side every day---how could he ever truly hate you?"

I believed him. I thought he was working so hard to give us a better life, so I couldn't bear to ruin his image in front of our son.

I willingly played the villain in our family, never knowing that Luke would never understand me.

Now, the other mother was gently stroking his hair, and Luke looked up at her with a radiant smile.

As if they were the real family.

The three of them counted down together and pulled away the cloth covering the centerpiece painting.

In the oil painting, Lucien and the woman stood on either side of Luke, holding his hands, smiling with pure happiness.

The background was a serene estate---the dream home I'd once described to Lucien. A swing, a garden, a small fountain inside a white fence---every detail exactly as I had imagined it.

The pain hit me so hard I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't watch anymore.

Applause, congratulations, camera shutters---they piled up behind me as I walked away from the center of the gallery, step by step.

Iris's POV

I walked toward the gallery entrance, looking at Luke's paintings one by one.

I'd set this space up myself, staying up through the night. Even though the frames had been empty when I hung them, I'd poured my heart into imagining how Luke would portray me, his mother. That hope had kept me going.

The first painting was a meadow scene.

A woman shielded the sunlight with a parasol, sitting on a picnic blanket, peeling an orange for a child. The boy was laughing, practically tumbling into her arms.

I stopped.

The woman's face wasn't mine.

Instinctively, I reached up and pressed the surgical mask higher against my face. I blinked hard, holding back the tears.

The second painting was a nighttime beach.

Wind swept through the woman's long hair as she held Luke's hand at the water's edge.

Luke gazed up at her with bright, adoring eyes, hugging her leg.

I stared at the ocean in the painting, and alarm shot through me.

Luke could't go to the beach.

Half-blood children born of vampires and humans carried vampiric strength, but in early childhood their condition was highly unstable---prone to fevers, prone to losing control.

I'd been meticulous about controlling Luke's environment. I even scheduled regular cleaning for dust mites. Yet he still got fevers repeatedly.

He hated when I dragged him to the doctor, but as his mother, I couldn't let him take any risks.

The doctor had asked whether Luke had been to environments like the beach. For vampire hybrids, places with too many biological organisms and overwhelming scents could destabilize them, triggering their vampire bloodline prematurely and actually damaging their bodies.

I shook my head every time. Impossible. I never took him to the beach. Even when we went out, I kept him bundled up and away from crowds.

But in the painting, he'd been there. And he looked so happy.

Once, he'd had a fever that wouldn't break all night.

I held him in the emergency room hallway, my clothes soaked through with sweat.

In his delirium, he kept crying out the same words over and over.

"I don't want to go home."

"I don't want Mommy."

At the time, I thought it was the fever talking---just a delirious child in pain. My heart ached for him.

Now I knew the truth.

He just wanted to go back to the "Mommy" in the paintings.

I kept walking.

The third painting was indoors.

A woman sat beside a piano while Luke lay nearby, drawing.

She looked down at him with a gentle smile.

Then I noticed the bracelet on her wrist---a string of rubies.

Pigeon-blood red, the color of flame, matching the woman's eyes exactly.

I'd only ever seen that caliber of jewelry on the wrists of my gallery clients.

A bracelet like that was worth a decade of my income when I was young.

My throat went dry.

Lucien had told me many times that he wasn't the kind of vampire who lived off inherited wealth. Everything he had, he'd earned through his company. All his capital was tied up in projects and couldn't be touched, so he needed me to keep our household frugal.

So I never asked for anything extravagant.

The most expensive dress in my closet was one I'd bought before the wedding. After the marriage, I barely bought new clothes, spending the household allowance entirely on him and Luke.

Until the year my father got sick.

The medical bills piled up into a mountain. We couldn't make ends meet, and I had no choice but to ask Lucien for money.

He was silent for a long time before finally saying: "I really don't have any available funds right now."

He looked at me, and I suddenly remembered the way his vampire friends had looked at me at our wedding.

A human marrying a vampire---it was only ever about money and immortality.

Even though none of them had said it aloud, I could imagine what they whispered behind my back.

I didn't want Lucien to doubt my love. I'd never asked him for money. After giving birth, my health had suffered, but I'd never brought up being turned, either.

I said nothing. I went back to our room and opened the cabinet.

Inside was the painting I'd treasured most from my youth.

One of the pieces from my very first gallery exhibition.

I'd never been able to bring myself to sell it.

That night, I took it down, had it framed, and contacted a former client.

The sale price was just enough to cover my father's treatment.

Lucien held me afterward and said he was sorry, that once the company stabilized, he'd make it up to me.

I'd even cried.

And now, standing before my son's paintings, I stared at the priceless gems on that woman's wrist.

The jewels glittered in the painted light.

Lucien had probably never been short on money at all.

He simply never trusted me---his human wife. Even after I'd borne his child, I was still in some endless, inescapable probation period, fit only to play the dutiful, penny-pinching nanny.

The fourth painting.

The woman and Luke sat in an upscale restaurant. On the plate was a steak, nearly raw---still bloody.

In the painting, Luke's eyes crinkled with happiness.

My chest seized.

Luke shouldn't be eating steak that rare, practically dripping with blood. He was still too young. Activating his vampire bloodline this early would only burden his body and send his emotions spiraling out of control.

I'd restricted him many times, enduring his tantrums while holding firm, managing his diet.

Lucien always used work as an excuse, refusing to step in and discipline the boy, content to play the gentle, permissive father.

I stood before the painting, my fingertips ice cold.

I finally understood what all these paintings meant. The beach, the steak, the trips, the jewels, the smiles---it had all actually happened. Someone had taken photos of Luke with that woman, and Luke had preserved those memories in oil paint.

I looked toward Lucien in the distance. He was holding the woman's hand, listening as Luke enthusiastically introduced each painting.

Lucien seemed to sense my gaze and turned around, but I'd already stepped back into a corner.

Iris's POV

I heard people murmuring behind me.

"Luke is so lucky. His mom comes to every exhibition."

Another voice chimed in with a laugh.

"Yes. And the couple seems so in love. A talented kid, a perfect family."

My body went rigid.

"His mom comes to every exhibition"---those words pierced my ears like needles.

So this wasn't the first time.

This woman had always been there, always appearing as his mother.

The sounds of the crowd surged back---laughter, congratulations, praise.

They surrounded me, yet none of it was meant for me.

An exhibition themed "My Mother," starring my husband, the son I'd carried for ten months, and my son's "Mommy." I was just the human who'd delivered Luke, the nanny who handled discipline and restriction.

The love and joy of motherhood had long been handed to someone else by Lucien.