Chapter 5

Ethan faltered. He looked down at the son in his arms.

Oliver, nestled against his father's chest, had quieted his crying to a murmur. "I was only telling the truth... Auntie Viv said that old woman is just burning through Daddy's money..."

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Why are you arguing with a child?" He glanced at me with a sweep of his eyes. "Vivienne is helping manage the household finances right now — she was simply stating a factual observation from a financial perspective, and the child overheard it. Don't blow this out of proportion."

"You know how much she does for this family. You've always known."

He glanced at the brooch broken into pieces in my hand.

Something in him softened slightly after all:

"I brought the child over today on purpose — so the two of you could have a proper talk. But that matter — don't tell him about it for now. It won't do his development any good."

I knew he meant the divorce.

I said nothing.

Talk?

Talk about what?

In four years of marriage, the amount of time he and our son had spoken to me combined didn't add up to half the time he spent talking to Vivienne.

And yet it was he who'd pursued me back in university, step by step drawing me in.

Getting me to travel to churches and tarot readers and mediums all over, searching desperately for a sign, not giving up until at last one fortune-teller and one reading gave me the answer I'd hoped for...

Even without that so-called "accidental pregnancy," I had already gathered my courage and was ready to set aside the difference in our families' status to say yes to being with him.

Looking back now — it's just as well I never said it out loud.

My mother was still in that care home, waiting for me to come visit.

With those thoughts, I picked up my bag and walked out of the storage room.

In the living room, Vivienne was crouched in front of Oliver, coaxing him softly.

I walked past them without expression.

Behind me, Oliver let out a wail: "Why isn't that bad woman paying attention to me!"

He stamped his feet, overcome with a sense of grievance.

He was used to me running to soothe him after every tantrum, red-eyed and apologetic. Used to me saying "Oliver don't be mad, Mama was wrong."

So when I didn't even glance at him, he felt wronged beyond all measure.

Ethan said nothing, but the coldness in his gaze hit my back like a blade.

I didn't stop.

I was just reaching to open the front door when his voice exploded behind me: "Stop right there!"