My husband's childhood sweetheart was diagnosed with a terminal illness.

To fulfill her last wishes and let her experience the warmth of family, my husband, Aaron Turner, gave her my necklace. He even let her claim my birthday.

Even our son started calling her "Mom" in private.

He told me, "Chrishell, Sylvia is dying. Just give in to her, will you?"

Whenever I asked him to spare even a little time and affection for me, our son, Lucas, would rush to speak on their behalf.

"Mom, didn't you always teach me to be generous? Sylvia is dying. Why do you always make things difficult for her?"

Over time, I stopped asking for anything at all.

Then one night, I overheard my son speaking to his father after returning from the hospital.

"Sylvia is so gentle and graceful. I wish Mom could be more like her."

Aaron chuckled and affectionately brushed his hand over our son's hair.

"Your mom may be a little strict, but it's all for your own good. Since you like Sylvia so much, how about we let her be your godmother?"

So even the child I risked my life to bring into this world didn't like me.

I lowered my gaze, quietly closed the bedroom door, and pretended none of it had happened.

Since they were both filled with such regret, I'd leave quietly and give them what they wanted.

My husband, Aaron Turner, and our son, Lucas Turner, made the headlines together.

"Breaking News! Cold and ruthless mafia boss Aaron Turner secretly married—with a five-year-old son!"

But I wasn't the woman featured in the story.

In the video, Aaron and Sylvia Blair were walking hand-in-hand with five-year-old Lucas through an amusement park. Sylvia smiled gently as she caressed Lucas's head, while Aaron stood by, quietly watching her with soft, unwavering eyes.

They looked exactly like a family of three.

A few hours later, Sylvia updated her Instagram.

[Thank you, Aaron and Lucas, for the lovely gift to celebrate my discharge from the hospital! The cup was handmade by Lucas himself!]

I clicked on the photo and saw a necklace… and a handmade ceramic cup. Carved faintly at the bottom were the words "Happy birthday, Mom."

Instinctively, I turned to look at the untouched dinner on the table and the birthday cake still flickering with candles. A bitter smile crept across my face.

Today was my birthday. It was also the fifth anniversary of my marriage to Aaron.

But the one they were celebrating for wasn't me.

They remembered the day Sylvia was discharged from the hospital, but forgot my birthday entirely.

I received no gifts from my husband or my son. Sylvia, on the other hand, got a surprise from both of them.

I didn't know how long I had been sitting in the dark when Aaron finally came home with Lucas.

Seeing me sitting alone in the center of the living room, Aaron froze for a second. He flicked on the light and looked at me in surprise.

"Why are you sitting here in the dark so late? Why haven't you gone to bed?"

When I didn't respond, he frowned, assuming I was about to start another argument over Sylvia. He glanced at Lucas first.

"Lucas, go on upstairs and get some rest."

Lucas yawned and nodded. But just as he passed by me, he suddenly stopped and looked up.

"Happy birthday, Mom."

His eyes—so much like his father's—gazed at me with innocent confusion.

"We didn't forget your birthday on purpose. You're not mad just because we spent a little time with Sylvia… are you? After all, we'll have plenty more birthdays to celebrate with you in the future. But Sylvia only has six months left."

He didn't just look like his father—he spoke like him, too.

Six months ago, Aaron had worn the same innocent expression when he told me that his childhood friend Sylvia was terminally ill.

"Chrishell, Sylvia's been an orphan since she was little. She says she's going to die soon, and she's never known the warmth of a family. I just want to spend more time with her—with our son. I don't want her to have any regrets. Please, try to understand. We still have many years ahead of us. But she… only has one."

I had nodded in silence and agreed.

From that moment on, he and Lucas spent more and more time with her.

When I timidly asked for a little of their time for myself, Aaron said I was being jealous, competing with Sylvia for attention.

Eventually, I stopped asking for anything at all.

I watched quietly as they gave her everything that once belonged to me—the dress I loved, my necklace, the amusement park trip I had planned weeks in advance, the anniversary celebration I had so carefully prepared.

One night, after returning home from the hospital, Lucas whispered to Aaron, "Sylvia is so gentle and graceful. I wish Mom could be more like her."

I overheard it. And in that moment, my last hope crumbled.

From that day on, I stopped protesting. I told myself not to feel sad anymore, no matter what they did.

But now, as I looked at the child I carried for nine long months, the one I brought into the world with excruciating pain, my heart still throbbed like it had been hollowed out.

They didn't know, I no longer had "many more years" with them.

I turned to look at my cake, still topped with many candles. Beneath it lay a folded document—my signed divorce papers.

The night I overheard their conversation, I quietly booked a plane ticket.

I was leaving tomorrow. So, tonight was supposed to be the last time I celebrated my birthday with them.

After Lucas left, the room fell into a heavy silence.

Aaron was the first to speak, breaking the stillness. "Chrishell, don't be mad, okay? I didn't forget your birthday. I've actually had your gift prepared for a long time. I found your necklace—the one that means the most to you."

He was referring to the necklace that had been left to me by my mother before she passed away. I had always treasured it like a sacred heirloom.

But on the day I gave birth to Lucas—after a long and difficult labor—it was stolen. I was pale and weak, lying on the hospital bed, when Aaron held my hand, kissed my sweat-drenched forehead, and promised me he would find it, no matter what.

And he did.

But now, it was hanging around Sylvia's neck—in the Instagram photo she posted before.

I bit my lip and said nothing.

From the look on my face, Aaron must've realized I had seen it. That he had given my necklace to Sylvia.

Still, there was no trace of guilt on his face. His already dark eyes deepened further with a hint of displeasure.

"It's just a loan," he said, frowning. "Sylvia will give it back after she wears it for a while."

I didn't respond. I only nodded slightly.

I was leaving tomorrow anyway. Whether she returned the necklace or not no longer mattered.

Seeing that I didn't question him like I used to, Aaron visibly relaxed. He reached for my hand and gently explained, "She'll wear it for at most half a year. I knew you'd understand. You've always been thoughtful like that, haven't you?"

I'd grown used to outcomes like this.

When Sylvia said she wanted to feel the warmth of family, he left behind his duties as the mafia's leader and took our son to keep her company.

When she said she wanted to travel, he took over the family vacation I'd spent six months planning, and replaced me with her as the hostess.

When she said she wanted to celebrate her hospital discharge, he set aside my birthday and brought her gifts instead.

When she said she liked my necklace…

I convinced myself it had been stolen forever, that Aaron had never found it.

"…Let her wear it," I said.

Feigning a cough, I pulled my hand from his and stared ahead, face calm, eyes hollow with quiet despair.

My easy compliance seemed to catch him off guard.

For a moment, a flicker of guilt passed through his expression, and his tone softened.

"Don't worry," he said. "I promise you, Sylvia will give it back. In the meantime, go pick out another—something more expensive. I'll buy it for you."

I didn't answer. Instead, I quietly picked up the divorce papers, slightly crumpled under the cake box, and handed them to him.

"It doesn't matter anymore. Aaron, can you sign this?"

He instinctively took the folder, puzzled even before opening it.

"What is this?" he asked.

"It's a div—"

Before I could finish, his phone rang.

It was a call from the hospital.

"Hello, are you Sylvia Blair's family? She just collapsed in the street and was brought in by a passerby."

Aaron's brows furrowed instantly. "I'm on my way," he said quickly.

I stared intently at the document still in his hand.

As he ended the call, he pulled out a pen and scribbled his signature without a second glance. Then he handed the papers back to me and stood up to leave.

Just as he turned around, I called out to him. "Aaron, aren't you going to look at what you just signed?"

"I'll read it later. Sylvia's alone in the hospital. She must be scared. I need to go now." He waved his hand, and added like he always did, "Not sure when I'll be back. Don't wait up. Go to bed early."

Then he walked out without turning back, not even glancing at me one last time.

I watched his retreating figure, and in that moment, memories of countless nights flooded my mind.

I recalled how easily he'd drop everything whenever Sylvia had some emergency. And how I would sit on the sofa, eyes wide open, waiting for him until dawn.

I smiled bitterly and thought, 'Yes, Aaron. You're right. This time, I won't wait for you to come home.'

My flight was scheduled to depart the next morning at ten o'clock.

As usual, Aaron had spent the night at the hospital with Sylvia and hadn't come home.

At dawn, I quietly pulled my neatly packed suitcase to the door, ready to leave.

But as I passed by Lucas's room, my steps involuntarily slowed.

I had gone into labor early with him. The birth was unexpected and difficult, and he'd been frail ever since.

To ensure he received the best care, I had always taken care of him personally—his meals, his schooling, his routines. I never hired a nanny or a housekeeper. Not once.

After a moment of hesitation, I set the suitcase down and decided to see him one last time before I left.

Lucas didn't just look like his father; he'd inherited the same cold, distant temperament too.

When I entered the room, he glanced up from his desk and greeted me with a casual, "Morning, Mom," before going right back to the drawing he was working on.

I looked at his face—so much like Aaron's—and said softly, "Lucas, Mom is leaving now. Please take care of yourself."

He didn't even lift his head. "Okay," he mumbled absently.

I tilted my head slightly and saw what he was drawing: a scene from yesterday, with Sylvia and Aaron holding his hands as they walked through the amusement park.

A sharp pain tugged at my chest.

I remembered a video Sylvia had once posted to Instagram. In it, Lucas sat in her lap, happily munching cotton candy, his words muffled through his sugary grin, "I just love being with Sylvia! I can eat whatever I want and stay up watching TV all night!

"Not like Mom. She nags about everything! She's always telling me to sleep early, eat my fruits and veggies!"

Sylvia had laughed triumphantly and pressed him further, "Then who do you like more, your Mommy or me?"

"Of course, I like you more! If Mom were even half as gentle as you, I'd be so happy!"

Compared to strict, disciplined me, five-year-old Lucas clearly preferred Sylvia—the one who spoiled him, indulged him, and never set a single rule.

I had believed that raising him carefully, shielding him from illness, helping him grow stronger… was a good thing.

But instead, it only seemed to push him further away from me.

I watched him silently, his hand still focused on sketching Sylvia's smiling face, and felt my eyes begin to burn. I blinked, willing the heat away.

Just as I turned to leave, Lucas suddenly called out, "Mom."

I looked back.

He was staring straight into my eyes, his expression serious.

"Mom once said, whatever Lucas loves, Mom will love too. I really like Sylvia… so you'll like her too, right?"

I froze.

The final sliver of hope I had held onto quietly… disappeared completely.

I closed my eyes. Without a word, I wiped away the tears no one else had seen and forced a small smile.

"You always said you wanted to stay by Sylvia's side and protect her, didn't you? Starting today, you and your dad can stay with her. Protect her, just like you wished."

With that, I no longer cared whether he understood me or not.

I didn't look back at his puzzled expression.

I picked up my suitcase, walked out of the villa without turning my head, and made my way to the airport.

Just before boarding my flight to a foreign country—one where no one knew my name—I dropped my phone into the airport trash bin, along with every memory I had of Aaron and Lucas.

And as the plane lifted into the sky, I was free.