That night, Sofia knocked on my door, asking if she could sleep with me.

As I tucked her in, I felt her trembling. "What's wrong?" I asked.

Sofia peeked out from under the covers, saying in a muffled voice, "I watched the movie you mentioned, and it scared me."

I chuckled and then soothed her, "Don't be afraid, Sofia. That's just a movie."

From then on, Sofia often called me Mom. Soon, Sofia approached school age.

One day, I received a call from her teacher, saying she'd gotten into a fight.

On the way, I pondered various possibilities but couldn't fathom why Sofia, a precocious child with exceptional emotional control, had resorted to violence.

Since I lived with her, that horror movie incident had been the only time she lost her composure. At other times, she was always calm. I wondered why she fought with others.

At the school, the teacher had separated the two children. She explained that a little boy had seen Sofia's smartwatch background and insisted the person on it was his mother.

While arguing, he tried to grab Sofia's smartwatch, and a fight ensued.

Sofia stopped writing and packed her bag as soon as she saw me.

Seeing her unharmed and collected, I felt relieved.

Suddenly, a figure pounced on me, calling "Mom" repeatedly.

Sofia frowned, pulling the boy away. "Ew, you got snot on my mom's dress."

I finally recognized the boy as Jamie, my son, though he'd grown taller and lost his front teeth. He pointed at me, his eyes swollen but determined. "She's my mom! Give her back to me!"

"She's not," Sofia replied equally firmly. "My mom loves pasta and horror movies. She's not your mom."

Jamie looked at me with pleading eyes, grabbing my index finger. "Mom, you love vegetables best and never watch horror movies, right?"

I gently pried Jamie's hand off and put Sofia's backpack on her shoulders, kissing her cheek. "Sweetie, can you go home by yourself tonight?" Sofia nodded and left, her backpack swinging.

Jamie's eyes dimmed as he watched me send Sofia away.

But when he saw me looking at him, he forced a flattering smile and pretended to be casual. "Mom, when are we going home?"

His stubbornness reminded me of Vicente. "Where's your dad?"

Jamie looked down, focusing on his shoes. "I want to be with you, Mom."

The teacher came in with her phone. "Mr. Buckley is here. Go meet him."

My heart skipped a beat.

Jamie walked out with the teacher, glancing back at me every few steps.

Sitting in the first row, I suddenly said somewhat mischievously, "Do you know why I ate more vegetables at home?"

Jamie turned around, a puzzled expression on his face.

I continued, "Because you didn't eat any vegetables, I was afraid you would be malnourished. I had to coax you into eating them. Only when I ate a lot of vegetables would you eat a few. So you think I love vegetables. And, actually, I love watching horror movies, but neither you nor your dad likes them, so I catered to you and watched other movies."

Jamie's eyes turned red, but he held back his tears. "Mom, I'll eat vegetables from now on, and I'll watch horror movies with you, okay?"

I sighed, knowing it wasn't about that.

I used to love them and was willing to do those things for them. Now I didn't, so I didn't care if they were willing to do all this for me.

When I saw Vicente, he was still on the phone, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingertips, looking extremely tired.

In the past, I would wait for him to finish his work before asking for what I needed.

But now, I thought of Sofia being hungry alone at home.

With that worry in my heart, everything else became inconsequential.

"Mr. Buckley," I said, standing in front of Vicente with a polite smile.

He froze, said a few words to the person on the other end, and hung up. "What are you doing here?"

"Huh?" I shrugged. "Isn't it normal for me to return to my hometown after divorce? But why did you put aside your work in Prodale and come to Casterview?"

Vicente stumbled over his words, his gaze deepening as he looked at me. I met his gaze boldly.

After a moment of tension, Vicente looked away. "He missed you and insisted on seeing you."

I smiled, "But he already has Kinsley. Why did he come to see me?"

Vicente grabbed my arm, his emotions almost spilling over. "Patricia, I didn't marry her, and I only slept with her once."

His words brought me back to that night two years ago when Kinsley wore my black maternity dress with lace and lay on the bed.

Vicente covered her face with a pillow, having sex with her.

She asked, "Why do you keep deceiving yourself like this?"

He replied, "The scar on her belly disgusts me."

And indeed, after I gave birth to Jamie, Vicente rarely slept with me. Even when he did it, it was just only out of obligation.

I said softly, "It's not about once or twice."

I thought, "Once you did it, we were over."

Vicente and I met on the first day of college.

Don't misunderstand. It wasn't love at first sight. It was during the opening ceremony when Vicente's mother suddenly collapsed. I was right next to her and performed CPR.

After she was rushed to the hospital, the doctor said she was saved thanks to the timely intervention.

To thank me, Vicente treated me to a meal and gave me money. I accepted the meal but declined the money.

He was reserved, and I was slow-moving, so we didn't get closer because of the meal together.

Vicente came from a rich family and was good-looking, attracting attention from the start of college.

People saw us walking together and started gossiping about our relationship. Kinsley, who was my bunkmate, grilled me every day.

But I was sure there would be nothing between Vicente and me.

Our backgrounds were too different, and our personalities weren't compatible. We got through freshman year as acquaintances.

After sophomore year started, Vicente disappeared. He wasn't in class, and I didn't see him running on the playground at night.

Rumors spread around campus that his mother was a mistress, and he was the illegitimate son of a group director. His mother was discovered by the wife of the group director and would be sent abroad, so he couldn't continue studying here.

I sent him a few messages, but there was no reply.

I felt dejected as if I had lost all interest in everything.

Until one day, it was pouring outside, the rain tapping loudly on the stainless-steel window frames.

I suddenly thought of Vicente and sent a message. "Are you okay?"

I expected it to go unanswered like my previous messages, but soon my phone vibrated twice, displaying Vicente's reply. "Can you drink with me?"

It was true that his mother was a mistress and had been discovered.

But they didn't go abroad. His mother had jumped to her death.

His eyes were lifeless as he drank bottle after bottle, muttering, "Why can't I get drunk?"

I covered his hand grasping the bottle, looking into his eyes that only reflected me.

"Do you want to get drunk?" I asked.

His Adam's apple bobbed, and I covered his lips with mine.

That night, I cried from the pain.