"I want to give Uncle three more chances. If… if he really doesn't want us, then we'll leave and never come back."

I closed my eyes, agreeing to my son’s painful request.

"Alright."

Dorian, my son and I will give you three more chances.

After that, you will cease to exist in our world.

Friday was the day Cassandra returned to Chicago.

They had once been fiancés, engaged right after graduation.

But just a month before their wedding, she’d abandoned Dorian, chasing some fantasy of love with another man.

From that moment, their paths diverged, never meant to cross again.

Dorian fell into a deep depression.

And I was the one who stayed by his side.

One reckless night, and a child was conceived.

Just like that, I became his wife in name only—a woman he barely acknowledged, the mother of a son he never wanted.

After printing the finalized escape plan, I began preparing my cover story.

Unlike my son, I was long past being hurt by Dorian's indifference. I wasn’t foolish enough to wait for a man like him to change.

Seven years had been more than enough to burn away any naive fantasies I once held.

"Aurora, are you really leaving?" my gallery manager asked in a hushed tone.

I smiled, my excuse already rehearsed.

"Yes. I'm taking Leo to Europe to visit his grandfather. It's a long overdue family reunion."

She nodded sympathetically.

"That's for the best. It's been exhausting, seeing you hold this family together on your own."

I let out a short, bitter laugh.

I wasn't an abandoned woman, but my reality was far worse.

My eyes began to sting, but I quickly masked the feeling with a practiced smile, refusing to let anyone see the cracks.

Just as I was finishing up at the gallery, Dorian and Cassandra walked into the family’s private club.

She glided ahead of him, a gentle smile gracing her lips.

He followed a step behind, his gaze glued to her, never straying for a second.

A Capo I knew nudged me and whispered, "Aurora, look at that. Our Underboss finally looks human."

I forced a smile, a storm raging inside me.

It took seven years for the man of stone to show a glimmer of warmth.

But, Dorian…

I could wait a lifetime, and he would never look at me the way he was looking at her.

As they passed, I couldn't stop myself. I called out.

"Dorian—"

Before I could finish, he shot me a look of pure ice.

"Miss Valenti. Is there something you need?"

His voice was arctic, each word a command to swallow my words and remember my place.

I lowered my head, forcing back the tears that burned my eyes.

"My apologies, Mr. Halle."

He gave a curt nod, his attention immediately snapping back to Cassandra, as if she were the only person in the world.

He was my husband.

The father of my child.

And here he was, flaunting his devotion to another woman right in front of my face.

The irony was a bitter pill to swallow.

A humorless laugh escaped my lips.

I had been about to tell him I was taking our son to Europe.

Now, it was clear he wouldn't even notice we were gone.

He didn't care about me, our child, or this sham of a marriage that only served to bind our families.

Back at my table, a call came through from my son's phone.

"Mamma, equestrian class ended early for the school awards ceremony tonight. Marcus is bringing me to the club."

My blood ran cold. I was already moving toward the exit before I could fully process what I was seeing.

Just then, I saw Dorian reach out and gently pin a custom brooch—the one engraved with the Halle family crest—onto Cassandra's collar.

That brooch should have been mine.

Not far away, at the entrance of the club, stood my son.

With his equestrian bag slung over his small shoulder, he stared, frozen, as his Uncle tenderly bestowed the family's honor upon a strange woman.

A gentleness and patience my son and I had never been shown.

I was about to rush to him when Dorian finally noticed him.

His body went rigid for a split second, and he snatched his hand back. But a moment later, he squared his shoulders, moved to shield Cassandra protectively, and walked straight past our son.

As if he didn't even recognize the little boy standing there.

My heart seized. I quickly took my son's hand and led him back to our table.

Before I could speak, his eyes turned red. He asked in a tiny voice, "Mamma, is she the new woman Uncle wants in our house?"

Words failed me. I could only nod, tears blurring my vision.

My son asked no more questions. He silently took out his tablet and began his homework.

But silent tears dripped onto the tablet screen.

I clutched him to my chest. He was my entire world.

Two chances left, Dorian.

Later, I took my son home.

On the way, he suddenly asked, "Mamma, can Uncle come to my awards ceremony tonight?"

In our seven years of marriage, Dorian had never once attended any of Leo’s school events.

Looking at his hopeful eyes, I couldn't say no. I texted Dorian.

[Leo has his awards ceremony tonight. Will you be free?]

As expected, my screen remained blank.

My son lowered his head, his little hands clutching his gear bag.

"He's not coming, is he?"

He forced a smile, trying to convince himself more than me. "It's okay. Uncle is busy. I understand."

His words landed like a lead weight in my chest.

Just as I was about to find something, anything, to say, my phone buzzed.

It was Dorian.

[I'm free. I'll be there.]

My own heart leaped with a shock of joy. I immediately turned the screen to my son.

"Leo, look! He's coming!"

He stared for a moment, then a grin of pure, unadulterated joy spread across his face.

Seven years. It was the first time Dorian had ever agreed to attend an event with us.

That one promise made my son bubble with excitement the entire way home.

He chattered on about how many times his teacher had praised him, the awards he’d won, and his high scores in the equestrian competition.

His eyes lit up. "Mamma, I'm this semester's MVP! They're going to announce it at the ceremony tonight!"

He hesitated for a moment before asking, "Mamma… if Uncle sees how well I'm doing, do you think he'll like me more?"

I froze, and the ache in my heart intensified. I sent a silent prayer into the universe, begging that Dorian wouldn't break his promise this time.

I just wanted to give my son this one memory, this one beautiful lie, before we disappeared.

The clock ticked on.

The awards ceremony was about to begin.

Dorian never showed.

But Cassandra posted a new photo to her social media.

In the photo, Dorian sat beside a strange little boy at a private range, patiently showing him how to hold a real gun.

Her caption read: [The future Don!]

I turned my head and looked into the living room.

My seven-year-old son was sitting quietly on the living room carpet, meticulously polishing the small wooden practice bow I’d bought him.

The same scene. The same age. The same desperate need for a father's love.

And his was never there.

Sensing my gaze, my son looked up. His small hands tightened on the bow as he spoke carefully.