After picking up my daughter Evelina from preschool, she came home in tears, clutching her broken cochlear implant. “Mommy, that boy in my class said this thing is ugly,” she sobbed. “He told me if I dared to wear it again, he’d hurt me.” Fuming with anger, I immediately tagged the boy’s mother in our class group chat. To my surprise, her response was shockingly arrogant: [So what if my son broke it? I even stole your husband—messing with your daughter’s things is nothing. [Sure, you’re the legitimate wife, but you gave birth to a defective child! [My son is the eldest grandson of the Clapham family and the future heir. Who do you think you are?] Even their teacher chimed in, advising me to let it go. [Ms. Isabel Quiller, maybe it’s best to apologize.] Ms. Lytton suggested gently. [After all, you’re both the wives of the Clapham family’s sons, but she gave birth to a healthy boy. Rich families still prioritize sons, don’t they?] I laughed, though there was no humor in it. Immediately, I froze my husband’s credit cards and called him directly. “What did you do? Using my money to fund a mistress while letting her bully me?” I demanded. He cried out in protest. “Honey, you can’t just accuse me of things because I’ve been away for a week!” I was in the study reviewing some documents when my daughter suddenly interrupted me. Before I could say a word, she burst into tears and threw herself into my arms. “Mom, Mommy!” “I don’t want to wear my hearing aid to school anymore!” Hearing her choking on her sobs, my heart tightened. I quickly took her shoulders and asked why. As I spoke, I noticed a clear crack on her hearing aid. Her next words confirmed my suspicions. “Murray Clapham in my class said this thing is ugly. “He… he won’t let me wear it. “He ripped it off my head and threw it on the ground.” Seeing her so upset, I felt a mix of sorrow and anger. Gently, I wiped away her tears. “Sweetie, don’t cry. I will set things straight.” But just as I reached for my phone, her small hand pressed down on mine. Her face was a mixture of fear and desperation as she shook her head. “Please, Mom, don’t. “We can’t afford to cross them! “His family… they’re the richest in town. He’s the son of the richest family.” Her gaze fell, her voice drained. “Never mind, Mom. I’ll just wear a hat to school tomorrow… “So he can’t see it.” I paused, puzzled. The richest? Wasn’t that supposed to be me? After all, I controlled the family’s finances and held the real authority. Since when did I gain a son without knowing? Seeing my daughter so downtrodden ignited a fire in me. “Evelina, don’t worry,” I promised. “Tomorrow, I’ll go to school with you. Let’s see who dares to bully you then.” After calming her down, I picked up my phone and reopened the class group chat, which I hadn’t used in ages. I tagged Murray Clapham’s mother. [Are you aware that your son deliberately broke my daughter’s cochlear implant?] Typically, I was patient, even kind, when handling mistakes made by my employees. But now, seeing my daughter bullied, I found all my composure gone. The once lively group chat went silent as soon as I sent my message. The lack of response from the person in question only fueled my anger. I tagged her again. “Ms. Sara Thomson, are you aware of what your son did?” This time, she responded, and her reply left me speechless. She posted a picture of her son’s hand in the group chat and then tagged me. [Oh, it’s you!] she began. [My Murray came home saying his hand hurt—it’s all red! [Turns out he scratched it pulling that thing off your daughter’s head. [I haven’t even come to you about it, and here you are, acting all offended. Do you even have any shame?] Reading the endless messages from her, I was dumbfounded. I had never seen anyone so brazenly shameless! I typed back without even thinking. [Well, your parenting is certainly a revelation. Truly remarkable. [Seems like there’s no point talking to you here. Let’s discuss this in person at the kindergarten tomorrow!] But as soon as I hit send, her response came back even more brazenly, flaunting her status. [You? Who do you think you are to talk to me? [Do you even know who my son is?] Right then, Daniel Parker’s mom jumped in, quick to support her. [He’s the son of Hughes Clapham, the wealthiest man in the city! [Evelina’s mom, you’d better apologize. Maybe they’ll forgive you if you’re lucky.] Seeing that familiar name, I couldn’t help but laugh. [When we all joined, didn’t we confirm each other’s identities? [Hughes Clapham is my child’s father. Or is there a case of mistaken identity here?] This time, Murray’s mother, sent a voice message. Her shrill voice rang out through my phone. [No mistake at all. We share the same husband! [It’s just that I gave him a son, and you only have a daughter.]

I was so upset that my phone slipped from my hand, clattering onto the table. [What do you mean?] I typed back. Sara sent an emoji first, then boldly revealed her identity. [I’m Hughes’ mistress—but that’s about to change soon enough.] Reading her message made my skin crawl. Daniel’s mother chimed in immediately, ready to flatter her. [Mistress? Who cares about that? Anyone who bears a son is practically a wife!] Jeremy Hayden’s dad joined in. [Only someone as wealthy as Hughes Clapham could pull that off. Impressive!] Then Andrew Tuttle’s mother added her voice, hoping to score points. [Sara, you’ve got real talent—you have a boy, and a strong one at that! [You’re set for life now.] I recognized each word, but somehow, seeing them strung together left me struggling to process the meaning. Immediately after, Sara tagged me directly in the group chat. [Technically, I should show you some respect. [But you only gave Hughes a daughter and a disabled one at that. [Meanwhile, I had a boy. Need I say more about who’s more valuable here? [My son will be the heir of the Clapham family someday. But hey, if you get your daughter on her best behavior, I might just let her stay around in the future.] I couldn’t hold back any longer and typed back furiously. [Are you out of your mind? [Do you really think I wouldn’t know if Hughes had a mistress? [I’m here talking about my daughter—don’t bring up other stuff!] Daniel’s mother immediately jumped in. [Isabel, it’s not too late to admit you were wrong. [You’re all part of the same family, but her son is the firstborn heir, isn’t he?] Andrew’s mom couldn’t resist adding: [Exactly. So you’re the wife. Big deal. All you have is a useless daughter, and you know as well as I do that you are never going to be respected for it.] Their words, heartlessly discussing my daughter’s disability, made my whole body shake with anger. Without a second thought, I grabbed my phone and called my assistant. “Look up everything you can on Daniel Parker and Andrew Tuttle’s families!” The call ended, but new messages were popping up in the group. Sara taunted: [I took your husband. My son damaging your daughter’s hearing device. What can you do about it? [And consider what might happen if you cross me. [Hughes would definitely leave you if I asked him to.] Reading the enthusiastic messages cheering Sara on made me feel sick. I was just about to respond when Ms. Lytton, Evelina’s teacher, called. “Is this Isabel Quiller?” I took a deep breath, trying to control my anger. “Yes, this is she. I just wanted to understand—” She cut me off sharply. “I know this might not entirely be your fault,” she said. “But let’s be clear. Do you even know who you’re dealing with?” “What kind of person are you talking about?” I muttered, feeling speechless. Ms. Lytton clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Look, I know both you and Sara are wives of the Clapham family’s sons. “But don’t you understand who holds more weight here? “Wealthy families have always favored sons, and let’s face it—your daughter has her own issues. “So, tell me, what makes you think you stand a chance here?” Her words were like a punch to the gut, leaving me nauseated. If I didn’t have Hughes’ every move under careful watch, I might have actually wondered if he’d really betrayed me. When I stayed silent, she took it as her cue to continue her “guidance.” “Honestly, the best thing you could do is let this go. “This is just kids playing around, right? He’s the Clapham heir. If he wants to roughhouse a little, who’s to stop him? “Just think it over carefully.” I finally snapped, my voice rising. “Tomorrow morning, I want a face-to-face meeting with Sara. “Please make it happen.” I hung up, heart pounding, a throbbing pain building in my temples as fury and disbelief washed over me.

Before going to bed, I decided to cut off Hughes’ credit card. Soon after, he called, sounding a bit cautious. “Honey, my card’s not working. I was just about to buy Evelina a gift.” I could barely contain my irritation. “Oh? So you’re using my money to keep another daughter on the side, and you even had a son?” There was a moment of confusion on the other end. “Honey, you’re accusing me of something here. What’s going on?” Still fuming, I filled him in on everything that happened today. He protested his innocence and assured me he’d booked a flight and would be home by tomorrow afternoon. That night, I slept beside my daughter. Her little cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were a bit swollen. The more I thought about Sara’s dismissive attitude, the more I couldn’t sleep. Early the next morning, the nanny came rushing in to tell me, “Evelina won’t put on her cochlear implant.” A pang of sadness struck me as I entered her room, where I found her quietly wiping away tears. When she saw me, she forced a smile. “Mommy!” I gently put the device on her. “Why aren’t you wearing it, sweetheart? Don’t you want to hear Mommy’s voice?” Evelina bit her lip and shook her head. “I’m afraid he’ll stomp on this new one, too.” It was clear that yesterday’s events had left her with an indelible scar. If I didn’t handle this properly, she’d be reminded of yesterday every time she wore her cochlear implant. I managed a small smile and gave her cheek a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry. Today, Mommy’s going to school with you to make sure you’re okay.” After breakfast, I drove her to the kindergarten. As we entered, I noticed a few parents already gathered at the door. Ms. Lytton’s face darkened when she saw me. She came right over. “Isabel, Sara is here too. “I suggest you show some courtesy and apologize.” I brushed past her, holding my daughter close, and walked into the small crowd. I spotted Sara right away. Despite it being early autumn, she was already wrapped in a fur coat, with flashy gold jewelry hanging around her neck and wrists. She was basking in the attention of the other parents, her face beaming with pride. “Sara, your skin looks so flawless. How do you do it?” “Oh, that bracelet on your wrist must have cost quite a bit!” I walked up to them, cutting into the conversation with a cold tone. “So, you’re Murray’s mother, Sara Thomson? “Where’s your son? Are you planning to explain what he did to my daughter yesterday?” My words brought an instant chill to the atmosphere. The other women, who had been chatting away, turned their attention to me. To keep things professional, I was dressed in a tailored suit, and on my wrist was a simple watch with a Peppa Pig charm that Evelina loved. They looked me over from head to toe and finally gave me a disdainful smile. Sara crossed her arms and shot me a smug glance. “Oh, you actually had the nerve to come here?” I raised an eyebrow. “Your son was in the wrong. Why wouldn’t I come?” She laughed, waving me off dismissively, and then pointed at my daughter. “She’s just a disabled kid. My son bullied her, so what?”

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My name was Felicity Simons. On our fifth wedding anniversary, I told my husband, Roger Dent, that I wanted a gemstone necklace. Roger frowned, irritation flashing in his eyes. “Felicity, when did you become so materialistic?” Even our son, Orion Dent, who had been born after a difficult labor, chimed in with disapproval, “Mom, you should learn from Ms. Miller. “She’s not like you—so obsessed with money. If I could, I’d want Ms. Miller to be my mom.” Looking at the serious expressions on both their faces, I felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me. I sighed, “Then let Lillian be your mom.” As soon as the words left my lips, the room fell into a heavy silence. Roger rubbed his temples, clearly frustrated. “Felicity, don’t say such things to Orion.” But Orion seemed oddly cheerful, his eyes lighting up. “Dad, Mom agreed! When are you going to bring Ms. Miller home?” Hearing Orion’s words only strengthened my resolve to leave. In his eyes, Lillian was the better mom. I closed my eyes for a moment, then turned and walked toward the bedroom. While I was packing my things, Roger walked in. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, the familiar scent of pine enveloping me. I should have found it comforting, but now it felt nauseating, tainted by the scent of another woman, Lillian Miller. His low voice broke the silence. “Felicity, Orion is still young. Why argue with him? I’ll take you to the jewelry store soon.” With that, Roger kissed the back of my neck, his touch both warm and tender, as if we were still in the throes of romance. But I remained aloof, pulling away from his embrace without even looking up. I continued packing. “Let’s get a divorce.” I handed him the divorce papers I had prepared, my tone as flat as if I were discussing the weather. Roger’s brow knitted tighter. “Is this about the necklace?” His voice was laced with barely concealed anger. Thoughts raced through my mind. I mused, “Maybe I should tell him today is our fifth anniversary. Or that he hasn’t given me a gift in ages.” But as the words hovered on my lips, I lost the desire to waste my breath. “Yeah.” Roger fell silent for a moment before responding, “What about Orion? Are you really going to leave him without a mother?” Five years had flown by in the blink of an eye. I could still picture Orion’s wrinkled little face when he was born and the sweet way he called me “Mom” for the first time. But somewhere along the way, he started bringing up Lillian more often. “Ms. Miller is so amazing! She can make clay sculptures. Mom, I wish you could do that too.” Gradually, he stopped admiring me and stopped defending me. He didn’t even seem to need me anymore. “I don’t want either of you. You and him, I’m done.” Even though my heart ached, I managed to sound calm as I spoke. We locked eyes, the silence stretching between us. Roger’s expression hardened. He grabbed my wrist with a grip so tight it felt like he was trying to crush my bones. “Felicity Simons. I never thought you were so vain. After all these years, you’re just going to throw it all away?” He rarely used my full name, and it was clear he was genuinely angry this time. Even at this point, he still thought it was all about that necklace.

“Divorce, huh?” In an instant, Roger released me, grabbed the pen from the desk, and signed the papers with swift precision. Watching him scrawl his name, I felt a wave of relief wash over me, and for the first time, I sensed a flicker of emotion on my face. Just then, Orion peeked his head through the door, sensing that something was off. “Mom, are you and Dad fighting?” he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and concern. I silently pulled out a thick notebook from the desk and crouched down to his level. “When I’m gone, you need to remember what’s in here,” I said, handing it to him. Curious, he flipped it open, revealing a list filled with his allergies to fruits and vegetables. He pouted, quickly shutting the book. “I don’t want to remember all this! “Ms. Miller will take care of me. “Don’t worry, Mom.” In the past, hearing those words would have shattered my heart, but this time, an unexpected sense of relief washed over me. I stood up and casually placed the notebook back on the desk. “Well, that settles it then.” With that, I grabbed my neatly packed suitcase and headed for the door. No one stopped me—not Roger, not Orion. Not a single person came to see me off. As I reached the threshold, I heard Orion’s excited voice behind me. “Finally, that annoying mom is gone! Now I can have Ms. Miller as my mom!” I hesitated for a moment, but my feet moved faster. Seven years with Roger, five of them married. I had lived with him in a cramped, damp basement, and I had eaten day-old leftovers day in and day out. He used to hold me close, tears dampening my shoulder. “Felicity, this life won’t last forever. I promise I’ll give you the best life someday,” Roger had whispered softly. Then, he built his empire from scratch, becoming a respected figure in the business world. Roger grew busier, often staying out late. I never complained, always managing the household and keeping everything in order. The one thing I had resented faded away the moment I gave birth to Orion. Even though it nearly cost me my life, I welcomed the pain. Countless sleepless nights, I had soothed him again and again. But somewhere along the line, Orion began mentioning one name over and over—Ms. Miller. Even Roger, who was usually so indifferent, would light up with a hint of joy when he spoke of her. Only later did I learn that Lillian was a new hire at Roger’s company. At first, I brushed it off, not thinking much of it. Then, one day, when Orion threw a tantrum for candy, I firmly refused, knowing his dental health was poor. He yelled at me, red-faced, “Mom, you’re nothing like Ms. Miller! “You’re a bad mom! “You took Dad away from her and won’t let me have candy!” At that moment, it felt like I had plunged into an ice-cold abyss. The chill seeped through my bones, and my blood rushed to my head. I stood there, stunned, as my own child hurled insults at me. It turned out Lillian had been Roger’s first love, a passionate romance that had ended in a twist of fate. Since then, she had wormed her way into our lives. Roger started smelling like her perfume, and once, I even found a light brown hair on his shoulder. But back then, I kept my mouth shut. It wasn’t until today that I finally decided to file for divorce, cutting ties without hesitation.

I returned to my little rented apartment. It might be small, but it had a warmth that felt like home. I settled into my old routine, writing articles during the day and watering the succulents by the window in my spare time. Roger and Orion were nothing but distant memories now. Life was getting back on track, except for one little detail—Mia Simons. A few days ago, as I was leaving the building, I stumbled upon a dirty little girl huddled in the stairwell. She looked to be about seven or eight, her small frame curled up tightly, not moving an inch. I asked my neighbors about her. They told me she had been kicked out by her stepmother and that her biological parents treated her like a burden. No one was willing to step up and take responsibility for her. Seeing the pity on my neighbors’ faces, I couldn’t just walk away. I dropped a bag of bread in front of her. “Here, eat this,” I said softly, crouching down to meet her gaze. It took her a while, but she finally looked up at me. I felt a wave of relief wash over me when I saw her take a bite of the bread. But instead of leaving, the girl trailed behind me like a lost puppy, clutching the bag to her chest, her eyes wide with fear as if she thought I might push her away. I tried to harden my heart, but compassion won out in the end. After some back and forth, I decided to take her in. Mia was a sweet girl. Whenever I worked, she quietly tidied up the apartment. Whether it was folding blankets or doing laundry, her movements were so practiced that it was like she had done it a thousand times before. I often wondered what a seven-year-old like her had been through. Orion, her age, still needed my help just to pour a glass of water. One day, I lost track of time while writing. Suddenly, I was jolted back to reality when Mia gently opened my door, carrying a cup of warm water. “Mom, drink this,” she said quietly. The soft yellow light illuminated her, making her look unbelievably sweet. It reminded me of Orion. I recalled a time when I was bedridden with a bad cold, feeling utterly drained and my throat raw with pain. Orion, on the other hand, was sprawled on the couch, completely absorbed in his video games, laughing and having a blast. “Orion, could you get me a glass of water?” His little face scrunched up in annoyance, a perfect mirror of Roger’s impatience. “Mom, you’ve got to handle your own stuff. Ms. Miller wouldn’t be this much of a hassle.” Lost in my thoughts, I suddenly felt a soft, warm hand gently caressing my cheek. That was when I realized I was crying. “Mom, don’t cry,” Mia said, straining to lift her arm, her eyes filled with concern. I quickly wiped my tears and pulled her into a tight embrace. From that moment on, we would lean on each other. I never expected trouble to come knocking so soon. Just after I picked Mia up from school one day, I ran into Orion. He was holding Roger’s hand with one hand and Lillian’s with the other, laughing and looking like the picture of happiness. Lillian gazed at Roger with a soft, shy look, while Orion, the little comedian, was doing his best to make her smile. Without me, they seemed like a perfect little family. In the past, this sight would have crushed me, and I might have shouted at Roger in a fit of rage. But thankfully, that wasn’t who I was anymore. As I contemplated playing it cool and walking past them like a stranger, Orion spotted me instantly. His eyes lit up at first but then quickly darkened with anger. He let go of Roger and Lillian’s hands and stormed over to me. “Who said you could hold my mom’s hand?” he demanded, chin raised defiantly, his little face scrunched up in displeasure. Mia, unlike her usual shy self, tightened her grip on my hand and pressed her lips together, her eyes narrowing at Orion with a hint of defiance. “She’s my mom,” Mia asserted firmly, standing her ground in front of Orion. For a brief moment, Orion seemed taken aback. Then he looked up at me with disbelief. “No way! You’re so mean for stealing someone else’s mom!” His little face flushed with anger, and in a fit, he shoved Mia to the ground. I frowned, quickly helping Mia back to her feet, ready to scold Orion for his behavior. But Mia didn’t back down; she pushed Orion back with determination. His tiny frame wobbled for a moment before he tumbled over, crashing to the ground. The impact seemed to sting because he immediately burst into tears, flailing his legs in a dramatic display of protest. “Mom, she’s bullying me!” he cried out, his tears smearing across his cheeks. Honestly, I felt no sympathy for him. I just stood there, arms crossed, watching him throw a tantrum. “Listen, Orion, I’m not your mom anymore. “Your favorite Ms. Miller is right here with you. “You should be telling her all this, not me,” I replied coolly.

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