For all three years my son Liam has been in kindergarten, I haven’t made it to a single school event. It wasn’t that I didn’t try. Every time I mentioned it, he’d burst into tears and cling to my husband’s leg. “I don’t want Mommy to come!” This time, when his essay won a prize and there was an awards ceremony, my husband shut me down as expected. “Liam wrote about ‘My Mom.’ He’d be embarrassed if you were there. I’ll handle it.” I stayed silent and ironed my son’s little suit. But on the day of the ceremony, I slipped quietly into the back of the school auditorium. The spotlight found my son as he read his essay in a clear, proud voice. “My mom loves wearing red dresses. When she kisses me goodnight, she always smells like sweet perfume.” My blood ran cold. I’ve never owned a red dress in my life. And I never wear perfume. So who, exactly, was the “mom” in my son’s essay? The air conditioning in the auditorium was on full blast, but my back was already soaked with sweat. On stage, Liam continued. “It smells like roses!” “Mom loves roses, so Dad buys them for her all the time. She always picks the prettiest one for me and says she loves me even more than her flowers.” I gripped the armrest so tightly my knuckles turned white. My mind was a mess. I don’t have red dresses. I don’t wear perfume. And there’s no way I smell like roses. I’m allergic to them. They make me sneeze and my eyes itch. Both Derek and Liam know this, so roses have never appeared in our home. The mom Liam was talking about… wasn’t me. This horrifying realization was still sinking in when Liam’s winning essay was projected onto the big screen. Beside his childish handwriting was a drawing he’d made The moment I saw it, I couldn’t breathe. It showed a family of three eating ice cream in front of a Ferris wheel-a man in black, a woman in a red dress, and a beaming Liam in the middle. “Mom took me to the Disney castle and bought me a Mickey ice cream bar.” “Mom said she’ll buy me anything I want.” Liam had always dreamed of going to Disney. I’d brought it up with Derek countless times. But each time, he would check his schedule and give a weary sigh. “The company is in a critical growth phase right now. I just can’t get away. Soon, I promise. I’ll take a long vacation, and we’ll spend a whole week at Disney together.” I agreed. But then he turned to Liam. “Your mom won’t let you go to Disney.” Liam cried endlessly, taking all his frustration out on me. I wanted to explain, but Derek stopped me. “He’s still young. He won’t understand it. Just go along with it for now. When he’s older, I’ll explain it to him myself.” I had no choice but to agree. Eventually, Liam stopped bringing up Disney. I thought he’d lost interest, but I never imagined he’d already been there. Derek’s claim that he “didn’t have time” apparently meant he didn’t have time to go with me. The next page appeared, and Liam’s voice rang out again. “Dad and Mom took me to catch crabs. Mom bought me lots of shell toys…” “My mom is the most beautiful, the best mom in the whole world.” “I love my mom.” “Mom, when Liam grows up, Dad and I will protect you together!” The essay ended. Thunderous applause filled the auditorium. Only my hands and feet were ice cold. Liam loves sweets, so I strictly control how often he eats candy, especially ice cream. But he still developed several cavities. I took him to the dentist. He cried his heart out and called me a bad mom. He’s naturally allergic to seawater-it makes him break out in red rashes all over his body. So I never take him to the beach and even gave up my favorite beach camping trips. But he still gets allergic reactions frequently. I thought I was a complete failure as a mother, that somehow I had let him eat something else he was allergic to. I rushed him to the hospital for allergy testing. Again, he was miserable and called me a bad mom. I told Derek how much it hurt. He just frowned and brushed it off. “You’re the adult. He’s just a child. What’s the point in arguing with him? When he’s older, he’ll understand you meant well.” Liam turned six this year. For six years, I’ve been the “bad mom.” For six years, I’ve heard “your mom won’t let you.” And through it all, I kept believing what Derek said. I held onto the hope that someday, Liam would understand. But I was wrong. Derek said “your mom won’t let you,” but out there, that other mom indulged Liam in everything, gave him whatever he wanted. I was the bad mom because he had a good mom on the side. The applause slowly died down. Liam waved happily, and I followed his gaze to the front row. Derek sat right in the middle, wearing the suit I’d prepared for him. And the woman sitting beside him, also clapping, was wearing a red dress. The two of them went on stage together, each taking one of Liam’s hands. The woman’s eyes glistened with tears, and Derek tenderly wiped them away. Everyone stood up, marveling at this happy family of three. Only I remained seated, my nails digging into my fingertips until they bled. I had come here expecting happiness. But now I suddenly realized that happiness was never mine to begin with.
I didn’t stay until the end. I fled home in a panic. The house that once felt warm now seemed like a terrifying abyss. I stood in the entryway, leaning against the console table, feeling for the first time how utterly foreign this place was. But I couldn’t run. If I ran, I would lose completely. While they were still at the auditorium, I searched everywhere. Finally, at the bottom of Derek’s storage box filled with company documents, I found a hard paper bag. Inside was a brand-new red silk dress. The tag was still attached. Twelve thousand eight hundred dollars. Just last month, when my father got sick, I asked Derek for ten thousand dollars for medical expenses. But he showed me his bank balance-only two thousand dollars. “All the money’s been invested in the company’s new project. There’s really nothing left. If your father needs it urgently, I can try to borrow from friends.” I didn’t want him to owe favors, so I maxed out my own credit card and then scrambled to find part-time work to pay it back. And now, this twelve-thousand-eight-hundred-dollar red dress felt like a slap across my face. “My mom loves to wear red dresses.” Liam’s voice echoed in my mind. I swallowed my unease and opened the card hidden beneath the dress. It said: “My Beloved Rachel: Red is the color of home. The mother in Liam’s essay should have been you. Thank you for all you have done for our family. I wrap you in this crimson light, with a wish to walk beside you all my life. Derek.” I clenched the card, recalling that woman’s face. Rachel Sinclair, Derek’s high school classmate. She studied fashion design in college and opened her own studio right after graduation. Before I had Liam, I would occasionally check Derek’s company finances. Back then, half the investment funds went to Rachel Sinclair’s studio. I thought it was odd, but Derek said she was talented and it was a sure bet. Later, he convinced me to be a stay-at-home mom, and I stopped asking about company finances. Looking back now, perhaps even then, he was already with Rachel. In his heart, Rachel was his beloved, the woman meant to be with him for life. She had done “everything for their family.” So what about me? What was I? I put the dress back and opened Derek’s computer to check his transaction records. These past years, dealing with daily household chores, I always had endless housework. He was confident I had no time to look at his computer, so he never set a password. Over the past three months, there were several large purchases. Maldives hotel, three-person suite: thirty-eight thousand dollars. Jewelry counter: eighty thousand dollars. Disney resort: ten thousand dollars. Transaction after transaction-amounts I’d never seen before. Although Derek owned a company, all these years it was always “the company’s growth phase.” His money always had to go into projects, leaving me with only a few thousand dollars for living expenses. I thought if I just held on a bit longer, once the projects paid off, life would get better. But in reality, he’d been living well all along-the person enjoying the good life with him just wasn’t me. Around nine in the evening, Derek finally brought Liam home, his tone tinged with helplessness. “After the ceremony ended, the teacher organized a dinner for all of us. We just finished eating.” “Honey, have you eaten?” I looked at him without responding. At the auditorium, other parents had mentioned there was no dinner planned for tonight-everyone was supposed to celebrate with their own children. So where did you go, and who did you eat with? I clutched the sofa cushion. Beside me, Liam was yawning. “I’m so sleepy. I want to go to bed.” “Liam, want some ice cream?” His eyes immediately lit up. “Can I? Yes!” “Liam!” Derek suddenly snapped at him. “Only one a day!” As soon as he said it, he realized his mistake and quickly changed course. “The teacher gave him one as a reward tonight. You know the rule. He can’t have more.” Liam nodded along. “Right.” Father and son went to wash up. My temples were pounding. My son was only six years old, but he’d already learned to conspire with his father to deceive me-for another woman. What about the career I gave up for laundry and packed lunches? The friendships that quietly faded away? Every hobby that slowly gathered dust? Had every sacrifice I’d made over the years truly meant nothing at all?
The next day, I added the teacher on Snapchat, pretending to be Liam’s aunt. I’d missed all the parent-child activities over the past three years, but in the teacher’s posts, there was always Derek and that woman by Liam’s side. She was always in red, flawlessly put together, her hand tucked in the crook of Derek’s arm. The two of them beaming, cheering Liam on. In one video, Derek leaned down and kissed her on the mouth. Like punishing myself on purpose, I replayed that two-second clip again and again, until the ache in my chest finally faded into a hollow nothingness. That evening, I warmed some milk and brought it to the study. “I haven’t seen Liam’s essay yet. Did you take a photo?” Derek’s fingers froze for a moment before he spoke. “The essays were all kept at the kindergarten. It’s just a kid’s rambling anyway-nothing worth reading.” Silence filled the room. I glanced at the document storage box. The paper bag underneath was gone. He’d given it to her. I dug my nails hard into my thigh and said. “Tomorrow’s Liam’s birthday, and it’s the weekend. How about we take him to Disney?” Derek finally looked up, his face apologetic. “Honey, I forgot to tell you-I have a business trip tomorrow. Liam’s also going to a friend’s house. I’ll drop him off in the morning and then head straight to catch my flight.” “You’ve worked so hard all these years. Just rest at home tomorrow.” My thigh felt like I’d broken the skin. My once-calm heart was pierced again with fine needles-dense, searing pain everywhere. I left the study and went to find Liam. “Liam, it’s your birthday tomorrow. What present do you want?” His little head poked out from under the covers. “Didn’t Dad say all the presents are at the new house?” My heart lurched. “What new house?” He quickly ducked back under the covers. “Nothing, nothing! I didn’t say anything!” My legs grew stiffer. I turned and rushed out of the room. I asked the teacher to add me to the parent group. I immediately spotted the contact labeled “Liam’s Mom.” Rachel posted on Ins almost every other day. “My husband bought me another dress. My closet’s overflowing!” “Congratulations to Liam for winning first prize in the essay contest! Big dinner tonight to celebrate!” One week earlier. “Renovation’s done! Housewarming next week, and it’s also Liam’s birthday party. Everyone’s welcome to come celebrate!” In the photo, Derek had his arm around her in an unfamiliar living room, both their faces radiating happiness. I looked at it over and over in disbelief. Derek had bought her a house. My husband called her his beloved. My son said she was the best mom. My family had a new home-with another woman. Rage surged through me. I stormed toward the study, ready to confront him. But I heard Derek on the phone, his voice low and careful. “Don’t overthink it. Of course I love you. Liam adores you. I’m just waiting for the right moment to tell he…” “Rachel, please don’t cry. You have the fashion career you’ve always wanted. I won’t let you get trapped by chores and lose yourself…” I pressed my back against the wall. Hearing every devastating word. Recording every single one. I knew then that our eight-year marriage was over. Our bond as husband and wife was finished. Even the bond between mother and son had reached its end.
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