I was in love with Andy Spraggins for five years, and it left me emotionally drained.

In the end, I married Philip Watson, the childhood friend who had always stayed by my side.

Everyone saw us as the perfect couple. We even had a sweet little boy together.

I thought he was the light that had always been there for me.

But one day, I unlocked his old phone.

[If you come back, I'll divorce her right away.

[You've always been the one I loved.]

So it turned out that what I thought was true love was just a joke.

I was nothing more than a stand-in, something to pass the time.

Even my own son seemed to prefer her.

So I cut all ties and walked away without hesitation. But then the father and son both panicked.

"Babe, can you please not leave?"

"Mommy, please don't go…"

[Roberta, you're the only one I've ever loved.]

After reading all the texts, I felt like all the strength had been drained from my body, and I collapsed to the ground.

Every word in that chat history was filled with love and longing—words that should have made me happy.

But the woman Philip Watson was saying them to wasn't me.

It was his first love, Roberta Lawson.

A few days ago, I'd noticed Philip sneaking around, constantly texting someone on his phone.

I thought he was planning a surprise for our anniversary.

Wanting to play along, I waited until he wasn't looking and tried a bunch of passwords.

My birthday. Our son Tyler's birthday. Philip's birthday. Even our wedding date.

I figured he was just being cautious, trying to keep me from spoiling the surprise.

Not wanting to ruin the mood, I pretended not to know anything. I waited, full of hope, for my surprise gift.

But what I got instead was the truth. He didn't love me.

I thought back to our anniversary date, the one that got interrupted. My smile twisted without meaning to.

That day, Roberta had come back from abroad. What was supposed to be a romantic dinner for two turned into an awkward meal for three.

She only took a few sips of wine before collapsing from an allergic reaction.

And Philip? He left me there without a second thought and rushed her to the hospital.

I spent our anniversary sitting alone.

Later that night, when I got home, my hands were shaking as I typed in Roberta's birthday.

Sure enough, the phone unlocked.

And just like that, the dream I'd been living for years—a happy marriage and a perfect family—was shattered in an instant.

To the outside world, we were a couple that people admired. But on the inside, we were broken.

It was like a fruit that looked fine on the surface but was already rotten underneath.

I sat there in a daze, staring as night turned to day. Only when the alarm rang did I slowly drag my numb body to my son, Tyler Watson's, room.

To my surprise, the boy who usually slept in was already wide awake.

The first thing he asked when he saw me?

"Mommy, how's Aunt Roberta?"

I froze. His little face was so sweet and innocent, but my forced smile faltered.

"She was sent to the hospital yesterday. It was early enough, so she should be fine."

As I spoke, I reached out to help him with his clothes, but he turned his head and dodged my hand.

"Didn't you know Aunt Roberta is allergic to alcohol? Why didn't you stop her?"

His serious tone caught me off guard. I stood there, stunned.

Allergic to alcohol? How would I know that? More importantly, how did he know?

"She promised to take me to the amusement park. But now, because of you, I don't get to go!"

He smacked my arm with his little hand. My hand froze in midair, and my breathing turned unsteady.

I remembered that Roberta had just returned on our anniversary, yet Tyler had already made plans with her.

That meant they'd seen each other before I did.

And that likely meant that Philip had taken him to meet her.

Roberta was the adopted daughter of the Watsons and was Philip's sister.

She was just as obsessed with Andy Spraggins, my previous crush, as I had been. But she was the one he loved.

After I married Philip, I moved abroad. From then on, we barely had any contact.

Still, maybe she never even knew Philip loved her.

That was what I kept telling myself, though my hands were already shaking.

"You stay home and rest, sweetie. I'm going to check on Aunt Roberta."

I pulled myself together and drove to the Watsons' house.

But the moment I stepped inside, I froze at the sight of Philip, busy cooking in the kitchen.

I had assumed he'd gone to work this morning, but clearly, he'd spent the night with his sister.

Watching how focused and gentle he looked, I clenched my fists as a wave of bitterness rose in my chest.

In the five years we'd been married, he had never cooked for me. He always said he didn't know how.

But now, suddenly, he did?

He turned around, holding a bowl of soup. My sudden appearance startled him, and his voice came out sharp, almost accusatory. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to check on Roberta. And you."

I didn't bother hiding the sting in my tone. Guilt flashed across Philip's face, and just as he opened his mouth to respond, someone behind me cut in.

"Bring the soup upstairs for Roberta."

It was my mother-in-law, Samantha Watson's, voice. She gave Philip a look as she walked past me.

And Philip didn't even say a word. He just brushed right by me and headed upstairs.

"Victoria, I know yesterday was your anniversary, but you shouldn't have let Roberta drink!"

Samantha's tone was full of blame, and the way she frowned at me was like I'd committed a crime.

I knew she never liked me, but now she was just being ridiculous. Roberta drank the wine herself—why was I the one getting scolded?

"Mom, don't blame Victoria."

Roberta's weak voice chimed in at the perfect moment. She leaned softly against Philip, barely able to speak.

"I wanted to drink. It was my idea." She then turned to Philip. "Why didn't you tell me Victoria was coming?"

Her sickeningly sweet tone made my skin crawl.

I looked at Philip and said, "Come outside with me."

I didn't want to argue in front of everyone and make a scene. But Philip only frowned at me, not moving.

"It's okay. You should go talk to Victoria for a bit," Roberta cooed.

"You're not feeling well. He should help you back to your room to rest," Samantha cut in, clearly directing her words to Roberta. But her eyes were on me, full of judgment, as if I would be the villain if I didn't go along with it.

"I'll wait at the door," I said, turning to leave. I pretended not to hear Roberta's soft, spoiled voice behind me.

It took ten minutes before Philip finally rushed outside and caught up to me, saying, "I came over to apologize on your behalf. But don't worry, Roberta's already forgiven you. She…"

He stopped mid-sentence. His eyes locked onto my tear-stained face, and for a moment, he said nothing.

"So you think it's my fault, too, don't you?"

Philip didn't say a word. But I knew that his silence meant agreement.

I always thought Philip was the only one in the Watsons who truly stood by me. But it turned out that I was wrong.

I thought his gentle care came from a brother's concern for his sister. I thought all the compromises he made were to help me feel more at home with the Watsons.

But all of that was just my wishful thinking.

"I'll drive you home," he finally said after a long pause. He took my hand and led me to the car.

As the engine started, I heard him speak softly beneath the rumble, "I'm sorry."

I rolled down the window, pretending not to hear a thing.

The wind whipped through my hair and stung my eyes, making tears fall without warning.

As we neared home, I took a deep breath and forced a smile before opening the door and stepping out.

I hadn't even unlocked the front door yet when I heard Tyler's voice coming from inside, loud and upset.

As soon as I opened it, he rushed into Philip's arms.

"Daddy, you're finally back! Mommy wouldn't let me go see Aunt Roberta, so she locked me in the house. But I really want to go to the amusement park!"

His words made me freeze.

I couldn't believe my own child could say something so hurtful like it was nothing.

Philip looked startled. His eyes flicked toward me.

"Mommy was worried the trip would be too long and you'd get tired," he said gently, ruffling Tyler's hair. "How about this? We'll take you to the amusement park today, okay?"

"I don't want Mommy to come!" Tyler turned his head away, pouting.

As I looked at his little face in profile, my heart ached. I lowered my gaze to hide the sting in my eyes.

I'd spent all this time trying to juggle work and family, but in the end, I'd failed at both. My son didn't love me, and my husband didn't either.

"How about I stay home and make your favorite meatballs?" I softened my voice and kneeled, gently holding his little hand.

He finally turned to look at me, blinking his big eyes. Then he nodded.

"Then I want extra meatballs tonight!"

Those words finally warmed something in me.

The sun was climbing higher, and as I stood in the empty house, something drew me to pick up that phone again.

[The world may not let me love you, but my heart still chooses you.]

I read the message out loud.

It was still sitting in the drafts folder, unsent. It was a secret Philip had written in his youth, full of longing and emotion.

"What about me, then?" My voice trembled, but deep down, I still clung to a little hope.

That message came from an eighteen-year-old Philip. But he had grown up and become a husband and a father.

If he really didn't love me, why would he have a child with me?

Then I saw it.

[I don't love her. I had a child with her because I hoped he could love her in my place.]

I couldn't breathe. The warm weather suddenly felt freezing.

My vision blurred, and my chest grew tight.

So this was why he was in such a rush to have a baby?

I had thought it was because he wanted a symbol of our love.

I thought it meant something real.

But now, I finally understood.

Eighteen-year-old me wouldn't have hesitated. If someone had betrayed her, she would've left without looking back.

But now, I had a sweet little boy, a family that everyone envied.

I clenched my fists and dragged my unsteady feet back to the bedroom.

As I lay there, staring at the ceiling, tears slipped silently down my face.

"Victoria, you hate yourself for being such a coward, too, don't you?"

I let out a bitter laugh, letting my thoughts spiral until I finally drifted off to sleep.

In my dream, I saw that cheerful boy from long ago.

He smiled and waved, then pulled a bouquet of roses from behind his back like a magic trick and shyly handed them to me. His eyes held no one else.

But when I woke up, the room was pitch-black.

I groped around to turn on the light, and then it hit me.

Oh, no. I still hadn't made the meatballs Tyler wanted!

I rushed downstairs, expecting to see my sulking son.

But the house was completely empty.

My steps slowed, and my vision went fuzzy for a second.

It was already 9 PM.

And they still weren't home?