The night the digital test flashed a steady, undeniable "pregnant", my sixyearold son, Oliver, pointed at the glowing screen of his iPad.

An adorable toddler influencer was dancing on the screen. "That’s my sister," he said, his voice eerily flat.

I let out a breathless, nervous laugh, assuming it was a joke, and gave his forehead a playful flick. "She lives all the way in Seattle, sweetie.

You’ve never even met her." "She has a million followers," I added, trying to bring him back to reality. "Don't make things up." "If you want a sibling that badly, how about Mommy makes you one?" I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs, desperate to catch any flicker of excitement on his small face.

But his expression remained utterly blank as he scrolled back through the girl’s old posts. "I bought her that little designer backpack in this photo," Oliver said, his voice devoid of any childish warmth. "Dad told me she's my only sister.

He said I have to take good care of her." My chest tightened. The smile died on my lips. "Mommy," Oliver said, turning to look at me.

His dark eyes were like two hollow, bottomless pits. "Dad and I are tired of pretending." He reached out, his small, cold hand resting against my stomach. "I promised Dad I’d protect Lola.

So, you can't have another annoying pest. You’ll listen to me, right?" … It was the first time Oliver had ever looked at me that way. A cold dread crept up my spine.

I forced a laugh, pretending to be angry. "Go do your homework right now!

Keep talking nonsense, and I’ll have your father deal with you the second he gets home!" Oliver gave me a long, empty look before quietly heading toward his bedroom. "Do what you want," he muttered over his shoulder. "But Dad is going to side with me anyway." The door clicked shut, dividing our apartment into two entirely different worlds.

I sat frozen on the sofa, my hands and feet trembling uncontrollably. His expression hadn't been that of a child playing a prank.

Could Elliot really have another family hidden away? I pulled out my phone and searched for the influencer. The mother’s name was Cathy. She was thirty, with soft, elegant features.

Her daughter, Lola, was only four months younger than Oliver. I had followed their account for a year, but the father had never once appeared in any of their videos.

Now, looking closer at Lola’s eyes, the resemblance to Elliot was undeniable. My knuckles turned white as I scrolled through their history, my thumb trembling.

Back in June, Cathy had posted in her fan group, frantic because Lola's father had accidentally given the girl milk, triggering her severe dairy allergy.

Since Oliver also had a milk allergy, I had reached out, sending her a long, detailed list of precautions based on my own experience.

Afterward, she had sent me a private message. "It’s all his fault for being so careless. He barely gets to visit, and when he does, he just wants to spoil her with treats.

Thank you so much for today." Attached was a photo of Lola sleeping. Next to her on the pillow rested a man's hand.

On his ring finger was the exact platinum band I had spent two months customdesigning for Elliot. It was one of a kind.

At the time, I had been so busy setting up Elliot’s new home office that I hadn't paid any attention to the photo. Now, the blood in my veins felt like ice.

A single, heavy tear slipped down my cheek. But how could he have had the time to go to Seattle? At exactly eightten, the front door opened.

Elliot walked in, immediately dropping his briefcase when he saw me. He cupped my face, his eyes filled with genuine worry and tenderness. "Aria, what’s wrong?

Why are you crying?" Looking at him, my tears only fell faster. I couldn't squeeze a single word past the lump in my throat. Elliot’s face darkened.

He marched over, kicked Oliver’s door open, and pulled him out by the shoulder. "Did you make your mother cry again?" Watching them, I felt a phantom pain in my chest.

If this had happened yesterday, I would have found the sight comforting. Now, it felt like a knife twisting in my heart.

The shopping bag Elliot had set on the counter contained a set of luxury room diffusers. I never used them, but they were scattered all over Cathy’s apartment in her videos.

I had researched the brand once; it was a local Boston boutique that didn't ship to Seattle. "Aria, did you pack the bags for Oliver and me?" Elliot asked as he guided Oliver into the kitchen to help with dinner.

I blinked, trying to clear my vision. "I packed them this morning." On the twentieth of every month, Elliot traveled to our family’s old estate in Maine to tend to his late mother's grave.

He always told me that my chronic back injury made the long drive too difficult for me. I had always found his thoughtfulness incredibly sweet.

As Oliver got older, Elliot started taking him along. I had never questioned it. With trembling fingers, I logged into his airline account on my phone. Boston to Seattle.

In our eight years of marriage, there were two hundred and thirtysix flight confirmations. Not a single one to Maine. It was all a lie. My phone buzzed with a notification.

Cathy had just uploaded a new video. "Lola’s dad is coming home tomorrow, so I’m picking up some of his favorite things at the grocery store." As she walked down the aisle, her camera casually swept past the family planning section, and she slipped two boxes of condoms into her cart.

The comment section was buzzing with excitement, but I felt as though I had been dropped into an arctic sea. I knew Cathy had recorded that video specifically for me.

Elliot came back to the table, chatting warmly as he scooped food onto my plate. "Make sure you don't stay up too late while we're gone.

Oliver and I will be back as soon as we finish tending to the estate..." I squeezed the prenatal report hidden beneath the table, my vision blurring. "Are you really going to Maine, Elliot?

Or are you flying to Seattle?" Elliot froze.

He slowly, methodically set his fork down. "Who told you?" Oliver glanced at his father’s tense face before speaking up. "I did." "Slap." Elliot’s hand struck Oliver’s cheek. "Since you love making your mother sad, you can skip dinner.

Go to your room and think about what you did." Elliot’s expression returned to normal as he turned back to me, placing another piece of chicken in my bowl. "Aria, how about I stay home tomorrow?

We can go see that movie you’ve been talking about." Tears streamed down my face.

I swept my bowl off the table, sending it shattering across the hardwood floor. "Are you not disgusted with yourself?

Lola is only four months younger than Oliver!" Elliot frowned, his voice dropping an octave as he corrected me. "Her last name is Hastings." The words felt like a physical blow. "You've always been too stubborn, Aria," he said, let out a soft sigh. "You really should learn to be more like Cathy." I felt like I was suffocating. "When did it start?

When I was pregnant with Oliver? Or before that?" Elliot leaned back against his chair, his eyes drifting as if lost in a fond memory. "On our first anniversary.

I was in Seattle for a business trip.

You were hysterical, begging me to come home, and on my way to the airport, I ran into Cathy being harassed on the street." I went entirely rigid, staring at him.

On our first anniversary, my mother had been in a catastrophic car accident.

Outside the ICU, the driver's relatives were threatening me, while inside, my mother was on life support. I had sobbed into the phone, begging him to come back.

By midnight, he had called to say a storm had delayed his flight out of Seattle. I had told him it was okay. I had even reminded him that I’d packed an umbrella in his suitcase.

Elliot sighed, reaching out to wipe away my tears, but I flinched away from his touch. "Aria, it hurts me to see you cry," he murmured. "I want to bring Cathy and Lola to Boston.

Lola is getting older, and she needs her father. But I promise you, you will always be the only Mrs. Hastings.

They won't ever threaten your position." Looking at his earnest, selfrighteous face, I bent over and retched onto the floor.

The next day, two of the brightest bedrooms in our suburban home were cleared out and decorated, complete with the boutique diffusers.

Elliot and Oliver left for the airport early to pick them up. Once they left, I drove to the clinic alone. On the way, I opened Cathy’s livestream.

On the screen, Lola was riding on Elliot’s shoulders, laughing.

Oliver was hugging Cathy’s waist, looking incredibly close to her. "Who says I don't look like my mom?" Oliver chirped to the camera. "She "is" my real mom!" Cathy beamed with pure happiness. "That’s right.

We're officially moving to Boston. Our family of four is finally going to be together forever!" The chat was flooded with thousands of congratulations.

I typed a single comment: "This is disgusting." Within a minute, a mob of viewers attacked me, and my account was permanently suspended.

Before the procedure, the doctor looked at me with concern. "Is there no family member here with you?

Your history is complicated; there’s a high risk of hemorrhaging." Fear finally gripped me. I called Elliot, my hands shaking. The first two calls went unanswered.

On the third, he picked up. "Aria, from now on, I’ll spend Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays with you, and Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays with Cathy. Today is Thursday.

You need to learn to be more independent.

Try to handle things on your own today." Through the receiver, I could hear Oliver’s sweet voice calling out to his "sister." I didn't say a word.

I hung up, wiped my face, and looked at the doctor. "I can sign the consent form myself." When it came time to pay, I unlinked Elliot’s card from my digital wallet.

A second later, a notification popped up. He had transferred fifty thousand dollars to my account. "You’re not being very good, Aria. Take this.

I don't want you running out of money." I didn't reply.

He thought he had built a gilded cage for a songbird, but I had been quietly saving my earnings from my freelance illustration work for years. I didn't need his money to survive.

I drove to a quiet library downtown, drafted a divorce agreement, and booked a oneway ticket to Burlington, Vermont. The flight was in three days.

When I got home, the house was dark. Elliot hadn't brought Cathy and Lola back to our place yet. Late that night, a pair of freezing hands woke me.

Elliot, with light snow still dusting his shoulders, pulled me into his arms and murmured against my ear. "Aria, link the card back. I know this is hard for you to accept.

I came back tonight just to be with you." "I won't let them near you, but you need to be reasonable and stop leaving nasty comments on Cathy’s pages. It upsets her.

I'm only going to let you throw a tantrum this one time." "Didn't you want to build a snowman? It’s snowing outside.

Let's go out, okay?" His lips pressed against my neck, his hand resting gently over my stomach—where our second child had been just hours before.

But his coat carried the heavy, unmistakable scent of another woman’s perfume. I closed my eyes and nodded slowly. As he was wrapping a scarf around my neck, his phone rang.

He answered, and within seconds, his face grew pale.

He grabbed his heavy coat. "Lola has a fever." I looked at him, my voice barely a whisper. "We're not going to build a snowman?" Elliot’s brow furrowed, his voice rising sharply. "Are you serious right now?

She’s a little girl! Why are you trying to compete with a child?" In two years of dating and eight years of marriage, it was the first time he had ever raised his voice at me.

We both froze. Oliver ran out of his room, demanding to go along. I instinctively reached out to stop him. "No, Oliver.

It's freezing outside, and you just recovered from a cold." But he turned and bit my hand, his eyes filled with a shocking amount of malice. "I want to see Lola!

She's more important than you!" I stood there for a long time, staring at the small teeth marks on my skin.

Only when the cold draft from the open door made me shiver did I walk over to my laptop.

With a numb heart, I deleted the clause in the divorce papers that granted me custody of Oliver. I sat on the edge of the bed, unable to sleep.

I opened my phone to see Cathy had posted an update. "This is what happens when you lie..." The photo showed two empty boxes of condoms.

A minute ago, she had replied to a comment: "Lola’s dad said we don't need them anymore. He wants us to have another baby.

Should I say yes?" I tagged her and replied: "Yes, go ahead." On the nightstand rested the neatly wrapped gift box containing my positive pregnancy test.

Elliot had never even noticed it. I picked it up, tore the report into tiny pieces, and dropped them into the trash bin one by one. Just like our marriage.

There was a knock at the door. It was Elliot’s assistant. He handed me a beautifully packaged strawberry cake, offering a sheepish, apologetic smile. "Mrs. Hastings, Mr.

Hastings asked me to come over and help you build a snowman.

He said he’s deeply sorry, and he’ll make it up to you tomorrow." I looked down at the receipt attached to the bag. "Two cakes?" "Ah, yes. The other is a mango cake for Ms. Cathy.

I already dropped it off." Elliot truly was a brilliant businessman; he never missed a detail.

I remembered when we were still living in a cramped, damp studio apartment, barely scraping by.

He hadn't had the money to buy me a proper birthday cake, so he had bought a loaf of bread and some whipped cream, assembling a sad, lopsided treat.

He had cried, holding my hands. "Aria, I don't have much right now, but what I give you will always be yours alone.

Once I make it, I’ll give you the absolute best life." Now, we had the money. But nothing was mine alone anymore.

I smiled gently at the assistant. "I don't really like cake anymore. You can throw it away.

Thanks for coming by." When I woke up the next morning, my newly registered social media account had been banned again. Elliot was making his boundary clear: Cathy was untouchable.

Even a simple comment was forbidden. A dull ache settled in my chest. I pulled out my suitcases and began to pack.

When Elliot had first bought this house, he had been as excited as a teenager. "Aria, we finally have space!

Now you can display all those little keepsakes you love collecting." I had been so happy.

Our old apartment had been so damp that my cherished mementos were always rotting or breaking. I sifted through the boxes now.

Love letters Elliot had written in college, photo albums from our road trips, dried flowers from our anniversaries... They were just relics of a dead past.

They had no place in my future. I dragged the trash can over and tossed them in, one by one. My text messages to him had gone unanswered since morning.

I had sent: "Are you coming home? I want to talk." He had ignored it. It was our first silent war in ten years. All because of Cathy.

I looked at the signed divorce papers and then at my plane ticket. Elliot was waiting for me to break, to beg for his attention. But I was out of time.

Late that night, my phone finally rang. It was him. "Oliver is sick," Elliot said, his voice strained. "Can you come over?

Lola is running a fever too, and I can't handle both of them by myself." I bolted out of bed.

Despite how cruel Oliver had been to me, he was still the child I had raised for six years. I couldn't stop worrying about him if I tried.

When I arrived at Cathy’s apartment, she opened the door, looking every bit the lady of the house. "Aria, you should have texted us. I would have had Elliot pick you up.

Look at you, you didn't even put on shoes." My eyes were bloodshot, panic clawing at my throat. "Where is Oliver?

I’m taking him to the hospital!" Elliot stepped out of the bedroom, his face dark as he glared at me. "Keep your voice down!

Lola just fell asleep!" Oliver stood behind him, his face flushed a deep, feverish red.

I rushed forward and pulled him into my arms, my voice cracking with emotion. "I told you not to let him out in the cold! He just recovered from a fever!

Why didn't you give him his medicine?" Elliot’s face hardened at my lecture. Cathy stepped in, trying to play the peacemaker. "It’s my fault.

Elliot was playing with Lola all day and was exhausted. Oliver didn't say anything about feeling sick either." Months of suppressed rage finally boiled over.

I pointed a finger directly at her face. "Who gave you permission to speak? You’re a homewrecker. What right do you have to talk about my son?

I’ve been entirely too polite to you—" Cathy’s eyes welled with tears. "Slap." A sharp sting bloomed across my cheek.

Elliot stood over me, his eyes burning with anger. "Aria, you've gone too far." Oliver wrenched himself out of my grip and threw himself in front of Cathy, shielding her. "Don't bully her!

It was my fault!" The husband I had loved for ten years. The son I had nearly died to bring into this world. To both of them, I was now the monster. The fight drained out of me.

A hollow laugh escaped my lips, dissolving into tears. "Oliver," I whispered, my voice sounding incredibly distant. "Are you coming with me?

I'll take you to the doctor." Perhaps the finality in my voice startled him, because he hesitated. But then, he shook his head firmly. "I don't need you.

Aunt Cathy is enough for me." I gave him one last look, turned, and walked away. I slammed the heavy door behind me, stepping out into the biting winter wind.

Neither of them followed. I bought a pair of cheap shoes and a coat at a twentyfourhour convenience store, then hailed a cab to the airport.

As the first morning light began to break over the horizon, my flight took off.

I wiped my tears, pulled out my phone, and sent Elliot one last text before switching it to airplane mode. "Let’s get a divorce."