Chapter 2

On the way home from kindergarten, George was very quiet.

He didn't shed a single tear the entire time, didn't even complain once. He just clutched the plastic stick from the half-eaten lollipop.

As soon as we got through the door, the doorbell rang urgently.

Mason's driver, Alan, stood outside panting, holding a huge cardboard box.

"Miss Annie, Mr. Mason asked me to deliver this."

Alan wiped the sweat from his forehead and carefully set the box down.

"Mr. Mason called me several times on the road urging me to buy this Ultraman Lego set. He said he left in a hurry and was afraid George would be upset, so he wanted me to hand it to George personally."

"Mr. Mason also said on the phone to stop by that dessert shop you always go to, Miss Annie, and buy a taro roll, but the shop was closed today."

I looked down at George. George didn't even lift his eyelids.

He simply walked around the box blocking his way, carrying his little backpack, and went straight to his room.

Click—the door closed.

Alan awkwardly rubbed his hands. "Miss Annie, this..."

"Just leave it. Thanks for your trouble."

I calmly closed the door.

My phone buzzed. It was a message from Mason on SnapChat.

"Daisy was crying so hard backstage she could barely breathe. The situation isn't good. I need to stay and comfort her. Explain to George for me. Did he get the Lego?"

I didn't reply.

Right then, a new notification popped up—a post from Mia.

The photo showed a man's upright figure from behind, bending down to hold a little girl in a princess dress.

The caption read: Thank you for saving a lonely little girl's Children's Day.

That silhouette—I'd been looking at it for ten years.

Staring at the glaring image and text on my phone screen, all I felt was deep exhaustion.

I calmly walked to my desk, pulled open the bottom drawer, and took out a divorce agreement I'd drafted long ago.

Turning to the last page, I picked up a pen and steadily signed my name in the wife's section—Annie Brown.

Then I walked to the calendar on the wall.

In the box two days away, marked with a smiley face and the words "Family Photo," I picked up a black marker and drew a pitch-black circle over it.

Late at night, the living room lights were off.

I sat on the sofa with scissors, the red cape I'd spent countless sleepless nights sewing draped across my lap.

Blood from needle pricks had stained the lining—all to create the perfect father-son performance.

The scissors mercilessly tore through the fabric. Golden tassels fell in two pieces onto the carpet.

I cut and cut, mechanically, until the cape that held months of my son's anticipation became a pile of scraps.

I swept them all into the trash.

At two in the morning, the sound of the password lock came from the door.

Mason pushed open the door, smelling faintly of alcohol, exhaustion written all over his face.

He casually loosened his tie and was about to change shoes when his movements suddenly stopped.

In the moonlight, he stared down at the trash bin by his feet.

Inside, the shredded red cape lay quietly.

"Annie, what are you throwing a fit about now?"

Mason frowned deeply, strode over to me, and looked down at me sitting on the sofa, irritation in his voice.

"Didn't I have Alan deliver the Lego? You spent so long sewing that cape..."

He suddenly paused, his gaze sweeping over the red scraps in the trash, his tone turning cold and hard. "But did you really have to do this?"