Three Years Betrayed

When I went to register my son, Cody Vantor, for medical insurance before his first year of kindergarten, I was told I wasn’t his biological mother.

"Are you sure this is your child? The system shows a different woman listed as the mother."

I said nothing. I quietly snapped a photo of the unfamiliar home address, then followed it to the neighboring complex.

When he saw me, my husband, Dorian Vantor, froze. His hand instinctively moved to block the doorway.

"So you found out. But making a scene won’t change anything. I haven’t treated you badly these past three years."

I looked past him, and my body went cold. The woman behind him was my younger sister, Summer Walsh, fresh out of college. She handed him a glass of water and gave me an apologetic smile.

"Don’t blame me, Lennie. The doctor said I have postpartum depression. I can’t handle hearing a baby cry. Thank you for raising Cody for me all these years. I really am grateful."

Just then, Cody, who had been waiting in the car downstairs, ran up. He rushed into Summer’s arms like it was second nature, then turned to look at me.

"Aunt Lenora, don’t cry. Mommy said you’re a good person. That’s why she asked you to help. Daddy said if I behave and call you ‘Mom’ at your house, I can come back on weekends to see my real Mommy."

Cody Vantor curled into Summer Walsh’s arms, burying his face into her neck and rubbing against her affectionately.

I had poured my heart and soul into raising him for three years, and yet Cody had never once shown me that kind of closeness.

"Lenora, don’t just stand at the door. Come in and sit for a bit?"

I stepped inside stiffly.

Directly across the living room was a massive photo wall. Every picture on it was of Dorian Vantor and Summer, with Cody between them. A family of three.

The photos were arranged neatly in chronological order, from maternity shoots to his one-month celebration, all the way to Cody’s second birthday.

As the so-called mother who had raised him for three years, I didn’t have a single proper photo with him.

My entire body trembled as I stared at Dorian. "Three years ago, in the delivery room… The child I gave birth to… Where is that baby?"

Dorian didn’t dare meet my eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed. His voice came out dry.

"You hemorrhaged and fell into a coma for three days. When you woke up, the doctor said the baby didn’t make it… that it was gone."

Summer leaned back against the couch and let out a mocking laugh. "Lennie, even if that little girl had lived, she would’ve just been a burden anyway. Not like our Cody. He’s actually worth something."

Dorian’s face went pale as he snapped his head toward her. "Summer, that’s enough."

I jerked my head up, locking my gaze onto him. My mind went blank.

Even if she had lived? What did that mean?

Summer curled her lip, completely unfazed by his anger. "It’s too cold in here. Turn the temperature up two degrees."

Dorian obediently picked up the remote and did as she said. He remembered that Summer was sensitive to the cold, yet forgot that air conditioning always gave me headaches.

That headache condition came from when Cody was a year old. He had a series of high fevers, and I had stayed awake for half a month straight, holding him day and night without rest.

Cody reached over the coffee table and grabbed a box of chips, tearing it open.

"Mom, I want this."

The word "Mom" rang out bright and clear. I clenched my teeth.

Dorian walked over and grabbed my wrist. "Lenora, I know this isn’t fair to you. But Cody is the only son in the family. My mom had to have a grandson. I’ll treat you even better from now on. We’ll never lack money for the rest of our lives."

I yanked my hand free. My stomach churned. I gagged, stumbling toward the door and fleeing.

The moment I stepped into the elevator, my phone rang. It was my mother, Maris Walsh.

"Lenora, you’ve seen Summer already, haven’t you? Your sister isn’t in good health. Giving birth to Cody left her with complications."