After The Divorce, She Became The Nation’s Sweetheart

The kitchen was bathed in warm gold, morning sunlight slipping through the lace curtains and painting patterns on the tiled floor. The fridge hummed quietly, the only sound in an otherwise still house until:

Clang!

Ryan slammed his spoon into his cereal bowl, milk sloshing over the rim and pooling across the table.

Isabelle flinched at the sink, fingers pausing in the foamy water. She quickly rinsed her hands, dried them on a napkin, and turned around.

“Are you full, sweetheart?” she asked gently, her voice even.

Ryan didn’t answer. He sat slouched in his chair, glaring at his soggy cereal as if it had personally offended him.

Across from him, Gregory hid behind a newspaper. His tie was perfectly knotted, his briefcase leaning neatly at his feet, and not a single hair out of place. He flipped a page without looking up. Typical.

Isabelle crossed the kitchen and moved the bowl aside.

“Okay,” she said softly. “But you still need your supplements, baby.”

She picked up a bright orange bottle, poured a spoonful of the thick liquid, and knelt beside Ryan’s chair.

“Here.” She held it out with a smile.

Ryan’s face twisted. He recoiled like she’d offered him poison.

“I don’t want it.”

“Come on, baby. Just this, and we’re done,” she coaxed. “It’s important, remember?”

Ryan shook his head, fists tightening.

Bang! Bang! He pounded the table with both hands.

“I don’t want it! I don’t want it!”

Isabelle could hardly keep her smile on. She glanced at Gregory. He hadn’t moved nor looked.

“It’s just one spoon,” she tried again, gentler than ever. “If you take it, I’ll give you the astronaut cookies after. The rocky one you like.”

“They don’t taste like real cookies!” Ryan snapped.

Isabelle’s smile thinned once she heard that. But, she didn’t falter and managed to keep it on.

Gregory sighed faintly and turned another page.

Isabelle steadied the spoon again, voice soft but firm.

“Ryan… please. You know you can’t skip your meds. Your iron’s low and—”

Smack.

Ryan slapped the spoon out of her hand.

The medicine splattered across the tile in a sticky streak of orange.

Her composure finally cracked. “Enough, Ryan!”

The words rang louder than she intended. Ryan froze. Even she froze.

Gregory finally looked up, barely.

“Just let it be, Isabelle,” he said, like the scene bored him.

She turned toward him, still kneeling.

“Greg,” She struggled to stay calm. “He needs it. The doctor said—”

SLAM!

The newspaper hit the table.

“I said let it be!”

Ryan flinched in his chair.

Isabelle didn’t move. Her chest rose once, sharply, then fell.

The silence that followed after that yell buzzed in her ears.

Gregory looked at her face which was still frozen and rubbed his hand down his face, suddenly looking years older.

“…I’m sorry,” he muttered.

Then, without another word, he stood and lifted Ryan into his arms. The boy clung to him wordlessly.

“I’ll take him. We’re late.”

Then, they left. The front door clicked shut. And with it, the warmth in the kitchen vanished.

Isabelle stayed kneeling on the floor with her hands dangled at her sides. The puddle of medicine soaked into her slippers.

Eventually, she rose and began to clean mechanically: Wipe. Rinse. Wipe again.

When she reached to rinse the cloth, her eyes caught onto the reflection on the microwave door.

Hollow eyes. Pale lips.

Was this what she’d become?

She blinked once, and then turned away.

Yet, the morning had only just begun.

A Few Hours Later…

The house had gone quiet again.

Isabelle was dusting the living room when the landline rang. She paused and glanced at the screen. It was an unfamiliar number.

She answered. “Hello?”

A breathless voice came from the other end:

“Mrs. Torres? Oh, thank God. I’ve been trying your other line all morning. This is Miss Donna, Ryan’s teacher.”

Isabelle frowned. “My other line? I don’t have—”

But the woman didn’t wait.

“It’s about Ryan. Something happened.”

Isabelle’s heart skipped instantly.

‘He fainted,’ she thought. ‘ It’s the iron. I should have insisted. I should have…’

“Is he okay?” she managed.

“He’s fine physically,” the teacher said. “But there was… an incident.”

Isabelle instinctively held her breath.

“He laughed while another student had paint thrown on her. He wasn’t the one who did it, but he joined in.”

“No,” Isabelle retorted, almost to herself. “Ryan wouldn’t—”

“He did,” Miss Donna interrupted, gently. “It’s been handled, but I’d like to speak with you in person. I already invited the other parents involved too.”

Isabelle was already moving.

“Yes, yes. I’ll be there.”

She quickly rushed upstairs, changed into something more presentable and left for the school, the door swinging shut behind her.

Crescent International Kindergarten

The black sedan slid to a stop in front of the gates. Before the driver could open her door, Isabelle stepped out, clutch held tightly to her chest.

“Please find parking,” she said without looking back.

The walkway to the school glinted with a too-clean polish, glass panels reflecting the clouded sky. She walked quickly, her thoughts tumbling over one another. Ryan had been moody lately, more temperamental than usual, but laughing at another child’s humiliation? That wasn’t her boy.

Just then—

Thud!

A shoulder slammed into hers.

Her bag slipped from her grasp, falling to the tiled ground. Lipstick, tissues, and a pen rolled in awkward directions.

“Oh!” she gasped, falling freely.

A hand shot out, steadying her.

She looked up and froze.

The man who caught her was tall, dressed in a charcoal suit that whispered of old money. His hand on her elbow was steady, his presence calm but commanding. His eyes—dark and unreadable—held hers in silence, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe until he spoke.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

His voice was smooth. Not cold exactly but restrained.

“I… I wasn’t looking. I’m sorry.”

She bent, but before she could retrieve anything, a younger man—his assistant, maybe—crouched and handed her the fallen items.

“Thank you,” Isabelle murmured, bowing her head slightly.

The man offered a short nod before moving on, his assistant trailing behind him.

He didn’t look back.

Isabelle watched his figure retreat through the school doors, a strange flicker of recognition stirring in her chest.

But she had no time to dwell on it and hurried toward the school’s main entrance.

Inside the Teacher’s Office...

The hallway buzzed with parental frustration, overlapping voices, scattered outrage, and the scent of perfume in the air.

Isabelle stepped into the chaos. She couldn’t quite catch what they were arguing about. Who said what, whose child did what first — the noise was simply too much.

As she reached the cluster of chairs, a hush fell and heads turned. A few parents shot her curious glances and then, the room descended in chaos again when they saw she was nobody.

She ignored them and scanned for the teacher.

Then she saw him again—the man from outside. He met her gaze briefly and instantly, that strange tug of familiarity hit her again.

But before she could place it, she spotted the teacher so she ignored it and approached her.

“Excuse me, Miss Donna?” she asked. “I’m Ryan’s mother.”

But just as she spoke, another voice chimed in:

“I’m here for Ryan Torres. I’m his mother.”

The room fell dead silent.

Isabelle turned.

The woman who stood there was immaculate. Long black hair, red lipstick, heels that didn’t quite belong in a school.

And she had just claimed her son.

Her son.