Chapter 3

The car heater was blasting.

Ethan sat in the driver's seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

The windshield wipers moved with a rhythmic, irritating screech.

Leo sat in his car seat in the back, wrapped in my damp jacket.

He was still shivering.

Ethan glanced in the rearview mirror and frowned.

“Can you tell him to stop putting his feet on the seat? This is genuine leather. It’s expensive to maintain.”

I pulled out some tissues and wiped the water from Leo's hair.

“Leo has a fever.”

I touched my son’s forehead. It was burning hot.

Ethan sighed, clearly annoyed.

“It’s just a little rain. Kids aren’t that fragile. Once we get home, give him some warm water and let him sweat it out.”

“Lily is a kid too. Why did you buy her such an expensive dress?” I asked quietly.

Ethan slammed on the brakes.

The sudden jerk threw me forward, my forehead slamming into the passenger seatback.

Behind us, a chorus of angry car horns erupted.

Ethan stepped on the gas again, his words pouring out in a defensive rush.

“I told you, Chloe was stupid. She got pregnant by some guy who ran off. I only helped her out because I felt bad for a single mother!”

“The kid grows up without a father, so she insists on calling me 'Daddy.' What am I supposed to do? Argue with a toddler?”

“And the cherries?”

“I bought them for a client! The client rejected them, so I just handed them to Chloe.”

“You know how tight our budget is with the mortgage. Spending money on luxury fruit like that is just too extravagant for us.”

I stared out the window at the passing streetlights.

The faded hoodie on Leo was washed out, the sleeves a couple of inches too short.

Last month, I told Ethan that Leo was growing and needed new clothes.

Ethan had said:

“Kids grow fast. Buying new clothes is a waste of money.”

“My cousin has a son who just outgrew his old clothes. We can just take those hand-me-downs.”

So, Leo kept wearing these oversized, worn-out rags.

Meanwhile, Lily got to wear custom-made tutu dresses and crystal headbands.

We drove into the underground garage.

Ethan parked the car and unbuckled his seatbelt first.

“Look, stop acting like this. Chloe has a hard life. We need to be more generous.”

“I’ll cook dinner tonight to make it up to you, okay?”

He reached into the back to pick up Leo.

Leo shrank back, avoiding his touch.

Ethan’s hand hung awkwardly in the air before he pulled it back, miffed.

“This kid... he’s never close to his own father.”

Once we got home, Ethan went straight into the kitchen.

I measured Leo’s temperature in the living room.

101.3°F.

We were completely out of kids' fever medicine.

I walked into the study to see if there was an extra first-aid kit.

The desk in the study was cluttered with a messy pile of receipts and documents.

Ethan usually forbade me from entering the study, claiming it contained "confidential company files."

But today, the door was slightly ajar. Through the crack, I could see the messy desk.

With Leo in my mind, I pushed the door open.

I rummaged through the drawers.

No medicine.

But my fingers brushed against a hard plastic card.

I pulled it out.

It was a Disney VIP Annual Pass.

The photo on the card showed Chloe, Lily, and Ethan, all smiling brightly.

Their heads were pressed together, with the Disney castle and fireworks in the background.

Underneath the card lay a store receipt.

The date was last Saturday.

It was Leo’s birthday.

Ethan had told me he had to work overtime and couldn't make it home.

Leo had waited up until midnight, eventually falling asleep at the dinner table.

The receipt showed a long list of items:

Princess Dress: $500.

Crystal Shoes: $300.

Luxury Seafood Buffet: $200.

Total: $1,000.

My hand holding the receipt shook violently.

That night, Ethan hadn't returned until after 1:00 AM.

He had brought back a tiny, cheap cupcake from a gas station.

It was barely the size of my palm, and the frosting had completely melted.

He had hugged me and said:

“Babe, the company is struggling lately. They cut our bonuses.”

“We need to save. When we have more money, we’ll throw our boy a proper party.”

And I had believed him.

I had deposited all the money I made from my freelance design work into his account, not even buying myself a single new shirt.

The study door flew open.

Ethan stood there, wearing an apron, a spatula in his hand.

When he saw what I was holding, his face twisted in rage.

“Who gave you permission to go through my things?”

He lunged forward, ripping the annual pass and the receipt out of my hands.

His movement was so violent that the spatula almost scraped my face.