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."