Unveiled: Who is My Son's Father?

My husband wants to elope with his mistress. And he took our son with him—secretly, without a word to me.

Desperate, I chased after their car, clutching my daughter’s hand while I grabbed onto the car door, begging him not to go. I never imagined he’d be so cold-hearted that he would drag me along the road for over 20 meters without even slowing down the car.

Our one-year-old son was crying, calling out for “Mom!” But it didn’t make him stop. The mistress, sitting there smugly, covered my son’s mouth with her hand and stared at me with triumph in her eyes. Then, as if to crush my last bit of hope, she dug her high heel into my hand, the one holding onto the car door. My fingers were smashed and bleeding, and I fell hard onto the pavement. The car’s rear wheel just barely missed my face as it sped away.

A kind stranger rushed over, asking if I was okay, but I barely heard him. I was choking back tears as I stumbled to my feet, frantically searching the crowd for my daughter. My ten-year-old girl stood at the edge of the gathering crowd, her eyes wide with fear, her whole body trembling.

Suddenly, I regretted it all. If I’d known how heartless Ethan was, I would have never brought our daughter to chase after him.

I pushed through the crowd, reaching my daughter’s side, and pulled her into my arms. She was shaking uncontrollably, and then she clung to me, sobbing, “Mom, is Dad trying to kill you?”

I wanted to tell her no, but I have a lump in my throat. No words came out. All I could do was hold her tight and cry with my face buried in her shoulder.

Then, the screech of brakes cut through the noise, and the crowd forced Ethan’s car to a stop. Someone shouted, “That’s her! The mistress! She seduced a married man and ran off with him!”

“And that guy—he’s even worse! He dragged his own wife under the car! What kind of monster does that?”

The crowd closed in on the car. Ethan’s face turned pale as he yelled desperately, “Get the hell out of here! This has nothing to do with any of you!”

But his angry words did not scare anyone off—it just made the crowd angrier. “Get out, you scumbags!” someone shouted.

The mistress wasn’t so smug now. They dragged her out of the car by her hair, her arrogance gone, replaced by sheer humiliation and fear.

Ethan fought his way through the crowd, trying to protect his mistress, Freya. His action shattered my heart. He’s never protected me like that. He’s never shielded our child from harm like that. Whenever I argue with someone else, he always looked down on me, calling me a shrew.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fight off the crowd alone. In a panic, he turned and ran toward me and our daughter.

“Amelia! Can’t we just talk about this at home? Do you have to make such a scene in the middle of the street? Have you no shame?” he shouted.

I stared at him in disbelief. “Shame? If you had any shame, you would not have had an affair! You want me to go home so you can grab the money, take our son, and run off with your mistress, don’t you?”

“You—” Ethan’s face flushed with anger, and he raised his hand as if to hit me.

I stood tall, refusing to flinch as his hand came toward me. For over ten years, I’d been the perfect wife—loving, supportive, and devoted to our family. But now, the man I loved treated me like trash, stomping all over my dignity and everything we’d built together.

“Look, everyone! This jerk’s about to hit his wife!” someone in the crowd shouted, drawing more attention.

Suddenly, people surrounded us and immediately stepped forward to reprimand him.

Ethan, realizing the crowd had turned against him, angrily lowered his hand and spat, “What do you want?”

I stayed silent, but the onlookers weren’t having it. “He should be reported to the police!” someone yelled.

“If that car had run over her, she’d be dead! That’s attempted murder—he should be locked up!”

“Those poor kids! How can a father be so heartless? He’s an absolute monster!”

The mistress shrieked Ethan’s name from the car, trying to drown out the crowd, while our son’s cries echoed through the chaos.

Ethan glared at me, frustrated. “You’re the one who clung to the car! You were trying to set me up!”

My hand was swollen and numb from where it had been crushed, but I kept my grip on our daughter, debating whether to call the police.

Ethan, eyes bloodshot, gritted his teeth and said, “Fine, let’s just get divorced! We’ll split the house, the car, the money—everything, fifty-fifty! You take our daughter, and I’ll take our son. Deal?”

Ethan’s mistress, clutching our son, pushed forward, her voice anxious. “Look at your son—he’s crying his heart out! He needs his mother!”

I reached out and held my son close, his hoarse little voice calling out “Mom.” Tears streamed down my face. There was no way I’d let Ethan take my child from me.

“No, Ethan. You’re the one at fault here, so you should walk away with nothing!” I pointed at the disheveled woman beside him. “Doesn’t she love you? Let’s see if she still feels the same when you have nothing left!”

Ethan’s eyes turned cold as ice. “Amelia, don’t be too greedy. Life doesn’t work that way.”