He Left Our Son Dying for the Son Who Was Never His

I watched my son, six-year-old Leo, shrink back from the towering, multi-layered chocolate cake. His face was pale, already damp with sweat despite the air conditioning. He’d been a Type 1 diabetic since the time we noticed his symptoms, and just the sight of that sugar bomb made my own heart pound.“Harry, please,” I said, walking up to my husband who was laughing loudly with a woman I knew too well—Claire, the mother of the birthday boy and the reason for the constant, cold knot in my stomach."Can you stop them? Leo can’t have that much sugar."The birthday party was an extravagant event for Claire’s son, Jake, held in our shared backyard, because Harry wanted Jake not to feel inferior to anyone, not even our son, Leo.Harry looked at me, his smile wavering for a split second before hardening. He lowered his voice, the irritation barely concealed. "Don't make a scene, Darcy. I have already told you the cake is sugar free. It's Jake’s birthday. We don’t want Leo to feel excluded.""

Harry had always disdained Leo for being 'sick'. As if it was his fault to be diagnosed with diabetes at such a young age. But, the reason why Leo was born diabetic was Harry himself, and part of me for being too blind in his love.I still remember the day I was working as a waitress in the five star restaurant of our city when a millionaire had booked the whole table, decorated the whole restaurant with red and black balloons. Not just that, he barged in the restaurant's kitchen and prepared a cake himself– to propose his girlfriend.But, the moment that should have come out romantic and pleasing turned into humiliation and joke as he played the voice message of his girlfriend."I'm sorry, Harry. I find my love in Jayden. We are shifting to my London's apartment that you gifted me last year.""Thanks for being with me all these years. You will always be in my heart just like a good old friend."The world tilted for him, for us as well. That's when I stepped up. I watched the cake I

Third Person POVThere in the North lands, Harry spent the whole week, roaming with Claire, shopping and playing with Jake. In the meantime, he did not bother to call his wife or ask about how his son was doing. Only when it was the time of his return, Claire wrapped her arms around his shoulder and asked, "How do you think Darcy would have arranged the celebration for me?""I have invited my friends from abroad as well. I hope she doesn't make me lose face before my friends." Harry smiled before he placed a kiss on her cheeks, "She dares not. She knows well she can't offend me when she is relying all on me for her sick son."Claire smiled arrogantly watching Harry still so madly in love with her that even his son meant nothing to him in comparison to she and her son. Harry grabbed his phone and dialed the number he had saved as 'Wife'. But, the call was cut abruptly. He dialed again and again but the line was always busy. His eyes darkened and he called the landline number. The ph

The atmosphere in the Green Garden was electric with anticipation. Claire, sensing the eyes of the city's elite upon her, smoothed her silk gown and took the elegantly wrapped box from Marcus."She really is trying too hard," Claire smirked, casting a sideways glance at Harry. "I hope it’s not something tacky."Harry didn't hear her. His heart pounded with a strange, frantic rhythm. He expected Darcy to jump out from behind the floral arrangements, or perhaps for a spotlight to hit a stage where she stood with Leo. He wanted to see her face, to apologize for his coldness, and to tell her that the house felt like a tomb without her."Open it, Claire," Harry urged, his voice thick with an emotion he couldn't quite name.Claire pulled the silk ribbon. The lid came off, revealing a thick, manila envelope. No jewelry. No designer handbag. Just paper.Claire’s brow furrowed. She pulled out the contents. At the very top, in bold, cold lettering, were the words: DIVORCE AGREEMENT.The smug sm

One year laterThe grand ballroom of the Pierre Hotel was a sea of velvet and diamonds. The elites gathered in the Big Hall had arrived from different continents to the world. Each of them had desire for some treasure presented in the World's biggest Auction. Harry had been desperately waiting for this day. He had saved all his fortune just to be here and buy only one product, that was probably the cheapest in this huge auction. A year had passed, and the once-mighty titan of industry was a hollowed-out version of himself. His hair was streaked with premature grey, and the sharp edge of his ambition had been replaced by a quiet, desperate penance.He was here for one thing: Lot 402. It was a vintage, hand-painted wooden train set—the "Golden Express."It was the last piece George Miller, a legend in toy industry, had crafted before dying. It was the only toy Leo had ever asked for and Harry had promised to buy for his fifth birthday but "forgot" because Claire had wanted a weekend i