Black Coffee With No Sugar

“Sign the papers.”

When Nora Yates opened her eyes, she was met with Travis Luther’s cold, impatient face. He shoved a document across the table toward her.

His tone was detached. “You won’t need it anyway. The overseas exchange program spot—just let Lily have it.”

Nora lowered her gaze, staring at the familiar black-and-white print. It took her a moment to realize: she had been reborn.

Travis didn’t notice the change in her. He simply grew more annoyed by her silence.

“The program’s in the UK. It’s six months. Quinton’s still young—he needs someone around. If you leave, what’s supposed to happen to him?”

At the mention of her son’s name, something stirred in Nora.

Quinton Luther.

Their child. Just six years old.

Her eyes slowly lifted to Travis’s face. Her voice was icy and sharp. “He’s your child too, isn’t he?”

Travis frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Nora replied coolly.

But clearly, Travis didn’t get it. His tone hardened. “Nora, we’ve been married seven years. You don’t have to use Quinton to manipulate me. You never used to be like this.”

What he really meant was that he liked her better when she was obedient and quiet. That was the version of “Mrs. Luther” he wanted.

“Travis.” Nora closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, every trace of emotion was gone. Only a calm chill remained.

“Let’s get a divorce.”

The moment the words left her lips, it was as if a weight had lifted.

The chains that had bound her for so long? Gone.

Travis’s voice darkened. “Stop being dramatic.”

“You think I’m joking?” Nora looked at him, then let out a low laugh. “I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

His expression soured. “If you’re trying to play hard to get, it won’t work. I’ve already made my decision. Stop being childish.”

He stood, grabbed his coat from the rack. “I’ve got things to do tonight. I won’t be back.”

And just like that, he walked out—without a glance back.

Nora scoffed, then headed to the bedroom to call a lawyer. But just as she unlocked her phone, a pop-up notification lit up the screen.

It was a post from Lily Yates—her “sister.”

“Didn’t expect that even now, someone would still indulge my silly little wishes. The city lights from the Ferris wheel were magical tonight. Huge thanks to my two princes, one big and one small~”

The post included nine photos. In them, Lily sat inside a glowing Ferris wheel car, full makeup on, smiling sweetly.

On one side, she had her arm around Quinton, and on the other, she clung to Travis.

The perfect little trio, beaming for the camera.

She’d even tagged Nora with a cheeky caption: “Sis, just borrowing your darling son and husband for the night. Promise I’ll return them soon—don’t be mad!”

Nora stared at the screen, then shut her eyes, swallowing the bitter ache rising in her chest.

It wasn’t Travis who hurt the most.

It was Quinton.

She still remembered his sixth birthday. He had just blown out the candles when she’d asked him, smiling, what he had wished for.

“I wish Aunt Lily could be my mommy,” he’d said without hesitation.

Nora would never forget how that felt—like being struck by lightning. Her hands and feet went completely numb.

She had nearly died giving birth to Quinton. There were complications, heavy blood loss. He was literally cut out of her.

And yet, the only person he looked up to was his father. In Quinton’s eyes, Travis—the man who was never around—was the one working hard for the family.

Even though it was Nora who cooked, played with him, cared for him every single day.

In her past life, after she was wrongfully locked in a psychiatric hospital, Quinton had visited her once.

Behind the thick security glass, his young face was full of anger and disgust.

“You tried to hurt Aunt Lily! I can’t believe you’re my mom. You’re horrible! If you don’t apologize to her, I’ll tell Dad to lock you up forever!”

Nora had opened her mouth to explain, but when she saw the hatred in his eyes, she couldn’t say a single word.

That so-called “attack” on Lily?

It was a setup. Lily had hired a few thugs, staged a fake incident, and pinned the blame on Nora.

The plan was sloppy—any decent investigation would’ve exposed the truth.

But no one looked into it.

No one gave her the benefit of the doubt.

Everyone just assumed she was jealous, spiteful, and mentally unstable.

In the end, it was Lily herself who calmly suggested, “I don’t blame my sister. She’s probably just under too much stress. Maybe she’s having a breakdown. We should get her checked out at a psychiatric hospital.”

And just like that, a casual sentence became her death sentence.

Her phone buzzed again, dragging her back to the present.

It was a message from the lawyer: “You and your husband have a six-year-old. In custody battles, the child’s preferences hold weight at this age. If you’re planning to fight for custody, I’d recommend speaking with him first.”

Nora’s fingers hovered over the screen. Her eyes were cool and steady.

She typed her reply: “No need. I’m not fighting for custody.”

Even a dog knows loyalty.

But after all these years, neither her husband nor her son had shown her the slightest bit of respect.

Fine. Then she didn’t want either of them.