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?

Maybe Tyler just got carried away playing and stayed out a little longer.

I tried to comfort myself, rubbing my aching head as I made my way to the kitchen.

I finished cooking a full meal, and another hour passed, but the front door stayed completely silent.

Each time I hoped they'd walk in, I was let down all over again.

I sat at the table, watching the food go from hot to cold, then reheated, then cold again.

"Tyler, I made your favorite meatballs. When are you coming home?" I mumbled to myself, picking up a meatball and putting it into my mouth. "Is it not good enough?"

Eventually, I gave in and called Philip.

Maybe Tyler really did lose track of time while playing. I just needed to remind them to come home.

The call connected quickly, but the voice that answered wasn't the one I'd been waiting for.

"Oh, hey, Victoria. Philip and Tyler are here with me. Don't worry."

Roberta's sweet voice rang in my ears, mixed with soft laughter in the background. It sounded warm and cozy, but it stung like hell.

I hung up the phone without thinking.

But right after, for some reason, I felt guilty.

I was Philip's wife. I was Tyler's mother. So why did it feel like I was the outsider?

Was it really just like that message said? That Philip would only ever love Roberta?

No. I had to go bring them home.

Determined, I grabbed my coat and rushed out the door, only for my vision to blur completely as soon as I stepped outside.

I collapsed into darkness.

When I opened my eyes again, I was in a small, unfamiliar room. The place was old and run-down. I sat up warily and saw a boyish figure carefully cooking something over a small stove.

"Hey. You're up."

He turned around with a bowl of dark liquid in his hands and walked toward me.

"You've had a high fever for two days. I didn't have money to take you to the hospital, so I picked some herbs and made you a medicinal soup."

His face was serious. For someone so young, he looked incredibly steady.

He paused, then added, "Don't worry. I didn't touch you while you were sick.

"If you're feeling better, this is the last dose. Once you drink it, you should be well enough to go home."

Almost without thinking, I reached for the bowl and finished it in a few gulps. It was bitter, but somehow, it warmed me.

After thanking the boy, I hurried home.

I'd been out for two days. I figured Philip and Tyler must be worried sick by now.

But when I pushed open the door, the house was still completely empty.

Even the food from two days ago was still sitting untouched on the dining table.

No one had looked for me—no calls, no texts.

I collapsed onto the couch and pulled out my phone. As I scrolled, I saw a new post from Roberta, and my fingers curled into a fist.

In the photo, Roberta smiled sweetly, while Philip and Tyler leaned against her on either side.

The caption read, [Thank you to my amazing brother and the cutest little one for spending Valentine's Day with me.]

So this whole time, they'd been with her.

Philip had never once celebrated Valentine's Day with me.

The truth was clear as day.

He wasn't just clueless or bad at romance. He simply didn't love me.

My husband didn't love me. And my son didn't love me either.

All those sweet memories from the past drifted through my mind, but they felt like fragile glass, shattered before I could hold onto them.

My chest ached, as if it was being torn in two.

I smiled through the pain, but tears quickly filled my eyes.

At that moment, I said to myself, "Victoria, it's time to put an end to this ridiculous story."