Chapter Four

The light in the kitchen was dim when Isabelle walked in.

It was evening and Greg had just gotten home. She’d waited until Ryan was tucked in bed, and the house had gone still. Then she’d chosen the farthest place from his room, so he wouldn’t hear what came next.

She stood near the kitchen archway, arms folded tightly across her chest.

Gregory walked in a moment later, moving straight to the fridge for a bottle of water.

She didn’t yell.

But something in the air had changed; taut like a string pulled too tight. One wrong move and it would snap.

Gregory took a few gulps, capped the bottle, and tugged off his tie. His other hand fished in his pocket for his keys. His phone buzzed faintly but he didn’t check it.

“Why did Tiffany call herself Ryan’s mother?”

Gregory blinked, not fully looking at her. “What?”

“At the school today,” Isabelle said, slowly. “She arrived there the same time I did. The teachers thought she was his mother.”

Gregory let out a sigh. Not one of guilt, but of tired irritation.

“It’s not a big deal. She must’ve just wanted to help.”

Isabelle gave a short, humorless sound.

“Help?”

She unfolded her arms, took a few steps forward.

“She’s your ex, Gregory. Why is she the one picking our son upat school? Are you going over to the school from her place, or is she just always conveniently around?”

Her voice sharpened. ”And why is she calling herself his mother?”

He tossed his keys into the tray with a clatter.

“Because Ryan likes her,” he said. “That’s not a crime.”

Isabelle stared at him.

“Can you hear yourself?” she asked, her voice rising notches higher now. “How exactly did he get close enough to your ex to form a bond like that without me even knowing?”

He didn’t answer. He just turned and walked toward the stairs. But just before he disappeared up the landing, he muttered,

“I’m not doing this tonight.”

Then the bedroom door slammed shut.

The light behind her flickered slightly. One of the bulbs had been acting up lately, but she hadn’t gotten around to fixing it.

She stood there, arms folded again but not out of anger this time.

As if… it was the only thing holding her together.

Half an hour later, Isabelle stood outside Ryan’s door.

His bedroom was quiet, lit only by the soft golden glow of the lamp by his bed.

He was already curled up beneath the dinosaur-printed blanket, back turned toward the door. When Isabelle entered, he didn’t move. Just pulled the covers tighter and sank deeper into the pillow like he didn’t want to see her.

.

Her chest ached at the sight.

She stepped in slowly, her slides barely making a sound on the carpet. Sitting on the edge of his bed, she reached out gently and brushed his hair back from his forehead.

“I’m not here to nag you,” she said softly.

His little body tensed under the blanket, but he didn’t speak.

“I’m not angry, sweetheart,” she murmured again, her fingers stroking through his soft hair. “I just want to talk a little.”

She paused for a moment before continuing with an even softer tone,

“Do you think what happened to that girl today was okay?”

He shook his head gently

Her breath came out in relief.

“Then… why did you laugh?” she asked gently.

Ryan turned his head slightly, still not looking at her. His voice was a faint whisper.

“I didn’t know when I laughed…”

It sounded so childlike and honest. Only a five-year-old could’ve said it like that.

Her lips curved into a relieved smile. So it wasn’t malice.

She reached for his hand, tiny and warm beneath hers.

“Next time, try not to laugh when someone’s being hurt,” she said. “Even if it seems funny at first. And if you can… try to stop the others, too. Okay?”

He gave a tiny nod.

“Come,” she said gently, patting her lap. “Lie on my lap.”

He shifted, turned toward her and crawled forward, resting his head there just like he used to when he was smaller.

She stroked his hair.

They stayed like that for a long while. She almost thought he’d fallen asleep, until he asked,

“Mommy… are you mad at me?”

She paused. And then, she smiled.

“No,” she whispered. “Of course not.”

“Here, let me read your bedtime story.”

Then she picked up the storybook from the nightstand. The same one he always chose. Something about a flying bear and a moon-shaped rocket. She opened it and began reading, her voice slow and soothing.

But her mind wasn’t on the story.

Her thoughts drifted… somewhere between what-ifs and whys.

When she finished, she closed the book quietly.

“Ryan…” she whispered.

​

His breathing had already slowed. He was halfway asleep.

“Did Tiffany… tell you to call her Mommy?”

There was a pause after that.

Ryan didn’t open his eyes. But he spoke. “She says she loves me… she said I can have two mommies.”

Isabelle’s heart stuttered.

And then went cold.

She blinked rapidly and didn’t speak for a long time.

Then she leaned down and kissed his forehead.

“You’re very special, baby,” she whispered. “You know that, right? You’re my whole world.”

He mumbled something half asleep and just before he driftedoff, she heard it:

“I love you, Mommy…”

Her heart clenched again.

She stayed there, long after his fingers curled into her blouse.

Eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling like maybe, if she stared long enough, the ache in her chest would go away.

But it didn’t.

And neither did the shadow of another woman in her son’s heart.

The Next Morning

The kitchen was filled with the soft clatter of plates. Morning light filtered through the blinds in pale slits, falling across the counter like a stage spotlight.

Isabelle stood by the sink, arranging toast and fruit on Ryan’s plate. The smell of scrambled eggs still hung in the air.

Behind her, the door opened.

Gregory walked in with the ease of a man who had nothing to apologize for. In his hand were a small paper bag and a bouquet of fresh flowers;delicate orchids wrapped in sleek, branded paper.

She recognized the brand instantly.

It was from that florist in the city center. It was pricey, impressive and was a long distance from their home. She used to love that about him; the thoughtful gestures, and the way he made an effort.

Now?

It was damage control.

“Morning,” he said lightly, as if last night’s silence hadn’t frozen the house. “I overreacted. You were right.”

He leaned in and kissed her cheek.

She didn’t move nor flinch. Neither did she lean into his kiss.

He offered the flowers to her with a smile. “For you. I picked them up on the way back from my run.”

She took them without hesitation.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

The words were smooth and polite but emotionless.

She placed the bouquet in a tall vase near the window. Turned the glass just enough so the brand name was hidden and then never looked at the flowers again.

Then, she turned back to look at him, her face calm but unreadable. He was seated now, sipping coffee.

“I’ll be picking Ryan up from school from now on,” she announced.

Gregory paused, his coffee halfway to his lips.

“You know it’s easier for me,” he said, keeping it casual. “My parents like to see him after school. You don’t like going over there, so—”

“It’s not about your parents.” She interrupted him but her tone never changed.“It’s about being his mother. If they want to see him, I’ll take him there myself.”

His jaw flexed slightly. Then his eyes flicked to the phone on the counter just for a second and then, he smiled.

“Alright,” he said smoothly. “If that makes you feel better.”

She gave a small nod as she picked up Ryan’s lunchbox and walked past him without another word.