Six months ago, I signed the divorce papers. I wanted the money, not the son. My ex-husband Sebastian Quinn sneered, “I’m the best you’ll ever get.” “After the divorce, I can find someone new anytime, but you? You’ll just be a divorced woman no one wants!” Our son Liam Quinn rolled his eyes at me, “Good riddance. I want Aunt Scarlett to be my mom. You’re not worthy!” Half a year later, both father and son begged me to come back. They were certain I’d eventually soften and agree. Until I showed them my engagement ring: “Sorry, gentlemen, I’m getting married.” Not far away, a little girl ran into my arms. She called out sweetly, “Mommy!” I never expected to see Sebastian Quinn again. After the divorce, I returned to my hometown, while Sebastian and our son stayed in New York. The distance between us was a three-hour flight. Enough to never cross paths again in this lifetime. Until a business dinner, where the manager introduced me to a Mr. Quinn, supposedly one of the top 100 investors in the Northeast. I had imagined many possibilities. But I never thought that the always proud and arrogant Sebastian Quinn would stoop to discuss a project worth less than a million dollars. After we sat down, his inquiring gaze remained fixed on me. I calmly picked up my wine glass, smiling and cooperating with the manager’s negotiations. Sebastian didn’t say a word throughout. Until several business partners started pressuring me to drink: “Miss Hart, you’re full of hidden talents. You’ve only been in this industry for less than six months, and you’re already making a name for yourself.” “You won’t refuse this toast, will you?” … One glass after another, the liquor burned down my throat, making my stomach ache. Even the manager noticed something was wrong. He tried to intercept the drinks for me, but was skillfully brushed aside by the partners, leaving him helplessly worried. Until I could barely stand. I heard Sebastian’s displeased rebuke: “Enough! A bunch of grown men forcing drinks on a young woman, what does that look like?” “Are we still discussing this deal or not?” The middle-aged balding men finally put down their glasses, exchanging awkward glances and forced smiles. A wave of nausea hit me. I excused myself and hurried to the restroom. After throwing up violently in the stall, my stomach still cramping, I managed to support myself and walk out. A pack of tissues appeared from my left. I looked up to see Sebastian’s handsome profile hidden in the shadows, his eyes unreadable. His tone was concerned: “Amelia, after divorcing me, it seems you’re not doing well at all.” “If I hadn’t stepped in earlier, were you going to drink until you threw up?” At first glance, he seemed genuinely worried about me. I pushed his hand away, sneering, “Cut the act, Sebastian. Who do you think you’re fooling?” “I’ve dined with these partners before.” “One has high blood pressure, high blood sugar, and high cholesterol, another has fatty liver, and the third just had surgery. They rarely touch alcohol. Without your instructions, why would they suddenly force drinks on me?” “Swooping in to help after seeing me in distress, Sebastian, does this satisfy your male ego every time you do it?” It’s not that I’m being paranoid, but Sebastian had done exactly the same thing before. Before marrying him, I planned to pursue a career in mechanical engineering. After getting married, on my mentor’s recommendation, I got an interview opportunity for a job position. If things went well, I could even join a research institute in the future. At the time, I immediately shared this good news with Sebastian. However, after the interview, I heard nothing back. Not only that, but my usually caring mentor suddenly became very cold towards me. He wouldn’t answer my calls or reply to my messages. I was devastated and began to doubt myself. Had I messed up some part of the interview? Had the company not liked me, disappointing my mentor? Sebastian, on the other hand, comforted me: “Honey, they’re the ones without vision. They can’t appreciate your talents.” “If it doesn’t work out, you don’t need to work. I can support you.”
I was deeply touched at the time. However, I never gave up on my career aspirations. If one company didn’t work out, I’d try another. I was even willing to take on sales roles related to the mechanical industry. But my luck seemed terrible. I’d barely last three or four months before the company would lay me off, citing restructuring. I was caught in a vicious cycle. Countless times, I asked myself: Am I really such a failure? Later, I became pregnant with our son Liam. Severe morning sickness tormented me, and I had to get many injections at the hospital to prevent miscarriage. Even walking was a struggle. I had no choice but to rest at home. When my mentor’s 60th birthday came around, after much hesitation, I sent a congratulatory message and a gift. That night, I received a call from my mentor. On the other end, the old man was drunk but still audibly upset: “Amelia, all these years, I’ve felt both love and disappointment for you, my last student.” “You’ve always been ambitious. Why did you reject the job I arranged for you back then?” “Do you know how many favors I called in to get you that opportunity, and you just gave it up!” I was stunned. After some probing, I learned that I hadn’t been rejected at all. Someone had declined the offer in my name. My mentor thought it was my personal decision, and when he heard I got married, he was greatly disappointed. A flash of realization hit me, and I called my previous employers. Only then did I discover that the “me” from before had often inexplicably insulted colleagues, sent emails complaining about heavy workloads, and even reported company leaders. Who would dare to hire me? And the culprit behind all this was none other than Sebastian. I confronted him in tears. Sebastian, with his mistress in his arms, coldly replied: “Amelia, you should be grateful. I’ve let you stay at home and enjoy life all these years instead of working.” “Besides, you’re a woman. Why do you need such a strong career drive?” “Always out for work, not even able to take care of our son properly. What kind of image is that?” Our son Liam, whom I had carried for ten months, looked at me with contempt: “Mom, you’re being ungrateful.” “Even if you went out to work, you’d never be as successful as dad. Why not just be a good housewife?” Even my friends advised me: Sebastian was at the peak of his career, and it wouldn’t be wise to fall out with him. I should hold onto his heart tightly and not let this golden opportunity slip away. After all, I was just a housewife who hadn’t worked in years. Apart from relying on Sebastian, I had no other options. At that time, I was like a moth trapped in a spider’s web. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t break free.
After I exposed his true colors, Sebastian’s face darkened. He threw the tissues in his hand into the trash can, unable to hide his disappointment as he said, “Amelia, you’ve changed.” “You used to be gentle, considerate, and understanding. Now you’re sharp-tongued and vulgar.” I remained calm: “Mr. Quinn, if you flew all the way from New York just to criticize me,” “Please, feel free to continue.” I didn’t care much about his words and turned to leave. Sebastian reached out to stop me: “Today is our son’s birthday. He’s been asking to see you.” “You must come with me.” Thinking of that face so similar to Sebastian’s, with an identical personality, I felt disgusted and directly refused: “I’m busy!” “The divorce agreement was very clear. I don’t want custody of the son, but I send child support every month.” “Besides, didn’t he desperately want your mistress to be his mom?” “Why is he clinging to me now?” Sebastian lowered his voice and said, “Amelia, is a $500,000 project enough to buy your presence at our son’s birthday party?” I paused. For Sebastian, this dinner was just about an insignificant small project, not even worth a second glance. But the entire project team had been working on it for three months. They all hoped the negotiation would succeed, so they could use the bonus to pay off mortgages, fund their children’s education, pay for their parents’ medical bills… I couldn’t let them all down because of me. “Fine, I agree.” After sending the drunk manager and project team colleagues to their cars, I opened the door of the Porsche Cayenne. Sebastian drove personally. On the way, he kept trying to make conversation. From inquiring about my life to attempting to get my attention with talk of our son. Unfortunately, I had no interest. He talked, and I kept tapping away on my phone, sending messages. When we arrived at the villa. I had just gotten out of the car when a small figure rushed over, bumping into me painfully. “Mom, why did you make me wait so long?” It was my son, Liam Quinn. He was wearing a well-tailored suit, looking exactly like a miniature version of Sebastian. Ignoring the fact that I was wearing high heels, he dragged me into the living room. The interior was lavishly decorated: expensive 3D models, flashy ribbons, various toys, and luxury goods crammed into the corners… In the center of the coffee table in the living room sat an eight-inch mango cake. Everything was so familiar. I clenched my fists, my nails turning white, my body slightly trembling.
Sebastian walked up beside me, completely oblivious, even with a hint of nostalgia and a smile in his voice: “Do you notice? This is exactly how we decorated for Liam’s birthday a year ago, before we divorced.” “He still remembers every detail to this day.” “Amelia, you carried him for ten months. He loves you so much. Now that you’ve seen him, can you really bear to leave?” I could no longer contain my anger, and retorted word by word: “Why wouldn’t I be able to bear it?” “Sebastian, you should know very well that birthday party was a humiliation for me.” Five years into our marriage, Sebastian had taken up with a starlet. Her name was Scarlett Rose, strikingly beautiful, but with a carefully crafted public image of innocence. My husband Sebastian doted on her. He often brazenly brought Scarlett home, and upon seeing me, his eyes were filled with undisguised contempt: “Amelia, look at yourself. No figure, no ability, just a freeloader.” “Learn from Scarlett. She’s already an Oscar-winning actress at such a young age.” “I’m embarrassed to be seen with you in public.” Even our son Liam, whom I had carried for ten months and raised with care, preferred Scarlett. “Mom, why are you my mother?” “If dad’s wife was Scarlett Rose, I could brag to others that I have an Oscar-winning actress for a mom.” “But you’re just a housewife. When my classmates ask about you, I feel ashamed.” My heart was overwhelmed with helplessness. I wanted to defend myself but didn’t know where to begin. It was Sebastian who had completely destroyed my career opportunities. Yet he turned around and accused me of being a freeloader. I had carried Liam for ten months and devoted myself to him wholeheartedly. But I still couldn’t compare to Scarlett, who only saw him once a week. What finally made me determined to divorce was on Liam’s birthday a year ago. He rarely spoke to me gently: “Mom, all my friends have nice birthday parties. I want one too.” He pleaded with me. I immediately organized the entire birthday party. That evening, Liam invited all his classmates to our house, and Sebastian invited many business partners. Then Scarlett showed up. She brought a $20,000 Lego set as a gift and gracefully sat down next to Sebastian. Liam’s classmates were very envious and asked, “Liam, what’s your relationship with the famous Scarlett Rose? Why is she so nice to you?” At that moment, I was about to bring out the cake I had made myself. But I heard Liam’s clear voice answer, “Scarlett is my mom.” His classmates obviously didn’t believe him and pointed at me, saying, “She’s your mom.” Liam looked at me with disgust in his eyes: “No, she’s not my mom. She’s just our housekeeper.”
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