Don’t Give Me Tainted Love

My head was still buzzing as I left the office.

Yvette Shaw's words kept echoing in my ears, over and over again, like the shrill wail of a siren.

I went home. The moment I opened the front door, a toy car came flying straight at me and slammed into my forehead.

The pain hit me before I could react.

Standing in the middle of the living room, my son, James Scott, glared at me with an annoyed look on his face.

"Why are you only getting home now? I'm starving."

My chest tightened with a mixture of hurt and bitterness, but I apologized out of habit anyway.

"I'm sorry. I'll cook right away."

James was an extremely picky eater and was allergic to many foods. I had instructed the nanny not to let him touch anything other than the meals I made for him myself.

As I turned toward the kitchen, I heard him mutter under his breath, "You don't care about me at all. You're nothing like Papa."

I froze.

Spinning around, I grabbed James by the arm. "What did you just say?" I demanded. "What did you call Eric?"

James blinked, clearly not expecting such a strong reaction. Then, he shoved me hard.

"What are you doing? Yeah, I called him Papa. What's wrong with that? Mom told me to, and he's always been good to me, unlike you! You don't even have a job, and you can't even take care of me properly."

The shove sent me stumbling backward. At that moment, something fragile inside me finally snapped.

Without my knowledge, my son had already become so close to Eric, my adoptive brother.

James stopped complaining and frowned in confusion.

"Why are you crying?"

Instinctively, I touched my cheek. Only then did I realize cold tears were running down my face.

James curled his lip in disgust. "You're really useless! Mom was right."

I fought back my tears and forced myself to ask one more question.

"If Mom and I got divorced, who would you choose to live with?"

He answered without a second of hesitation.

"Mom, obviously. Dad, you're useless. Eric's the one who should be my real dad."

I was the one who raised James. From the day he was born, I had devoted myself to him, playing with him, helping him with his first steps, and sounding out his first words with him. I had poured years of love and effort into raising him, yet the people he loved most were my wife and Eric.

Maybe he really was Eric's child.

One blow after another had beaten me down throughout the day, and this final realization was the last straw. I completely broke down.

Staggering back to my room, I finally let the sobs I had been suppressing burst free.

I lifted a hand to wipe away my tears.

As I did, my wedding ring slipped from my finger. I bent down and picked it up, gently rubbing the band that Yvette had custom-designed and made.

Before our wedding, I had been so touched when she gave it to me that I nearly cried. I had not even cared that it was slightly too large.

Then, as I examined it more closely, I noticed something I had never seen before.

A tulip was engraved on the inside of the ring.

It was Eric's favorite flower.

My gaze lingered on the engraving as another realization struck me. Eric's hands were one size larger than mine. The cold metal against my fingertips seemed to force the truth into my mind.

The ring had never been the wrong size by accident.

It had been meant for Eric all along.

The loose fit, the engraved tulip—none of it was a coincidence. They were clues my wife had left behind for him, hidden in plain sight.

Shock washed over me.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the ring in my hand as the weight of the truth finally settled in.

Just then, my phone vibrated.

A message from my best friend popped up on the screen.

His new company was about to open for business, and he wanted to know if I could visit.

Years ago, because of Yvette and James, I had handed over almost all of my career responsibilities to others to manage.