Chapter 4 Am I an Embarrassment?

He didn’t say another word before walking away.

I didn’t know who that man was, but I had to admit—he looked older than Sebastian. There was a steady, mature kind of gravity to him, the sort that makes you feel inexplicably safe. Objectively speaking, he might even have been more attractive in that quiet, grounded way.

But bigger worries crashed over me—Sebastian’s web of lies, his deliberate blindness to Joey walking back into our lives and poisoning everything.

I murmured thanks for his help, but my mind snapped instantly back to Jordan. Back to the wreckage waiting in his hospital room.

A doctor approached then, offering a sliver of relief.

“Jordan can go home today,” he announced, smiling warmly at my son. “He’s doing well. But—” His gaze turned serious, pinning Jordan in place, “—easy does it with food, alright? Remember that tummy of yours.”

“Yes, doctor! Thank you!” Jordan beamed—a real, bright smile aimed solely at him. I let out a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Thank you,” I echoed, forcing my own smile.

The moment discharge papers were signed, Jordan’s smile vanished like a switched-off light. He climbed into the car seat and turned to stone, his small face pressed against the cool glass of the window. Silence, thick and suffocating, filled the space between us. By the time the engine cut off in our garage, the quiet felt heavy enough to crush me.

“Jordan,” I turned to face him, my voice straining against the raw edge beneath the calm. “This has to stop. Tell me. Why… like this?”

He refused to look up. Just hunched his small shoulders, his mouth set in a tight, stubborn line. Katherine’s bitterness saturated that posture. And Joey… Joey shone through his rejection like a spotlight, making me feel clumsy. Unworthy.

I swallowed the sour knot in my throat, forcing my voice softer. Gentler.

“Sweetheart, about your birthday… Mom is so, so sorry I wasn’t there.” I leaned towards him slightly. “Grandma was really sick that day. Hospital sick. I had to be with her.”

His head jerked up. Eyes wide. Shock stripped away the defiance.

“Grandma was sick?!”

“Yes, honey.” My throat tightened. “That’s why I wasn’t home. I’m so very sorry.”

Confusion and hurt warred across his small face, hardening into accusation.

“Then… why didn’t Dad tell me?” The question hit like a physical blow, perfectly aimed. The lie. Sebastian’s lie, laid bare by our child.

“I waited for you, Mom…” His voice dropped, thick with remembered disappointment. “Waited and waited… My friends kept asking where you were…” He twisted his fingers together, the raw shame bleeding through. “I didn’t know… It was… embarrassing.”

“Oh, sweet boy…” My heart cracked.

“But then Joey came!” His voice shot up, suddenly animated, eyes lighting up with pure admiration. “She was awesome! All my friends thought she was, like, super cool! The presents! The cake! The games! Everything was… magic! She made everyone happy!” His hero worship was a blade twisting.

He looked directly at me then, his gaze suddenly hopeful. Innocent. Devastating.

“Mom… Can you? Can you be… like her? Can you be a… perfect Mom like her?”

Perfect?

The word slammed into me, stealing my breath. The air turned to cement. Humiliation and disbelief froze me. I tried to speak, choked.

Couldn’t stay. Couldn’t breathe.

I somehow contorted my face into a stiff, horrible smile. “Go play… in your room… okay? We’ll talk… later.”

He didn’t question it. Just scrambled out and vanished inside. I stood paralyzed in the cold, empty space of our living room, numb. Sebastian’s declarations – “You’re mine,” “I love you” – screamed against the radiant image of Joey’s perfection flashing in my mind. Honeyed words, dripping poison.

Later, in the kitchen’s suffocating silence, the thwack-thwack-thwack of my knife chopping vegetables against the board was unnaturally loud. A grim percussion.

Footsteps behind me. Sebastian was home.

His arms slid around my waist before I knew it. His chin dropped onto my shoulder. Familiar closeness. “Mmm… smells good.” His breath warmed my neck – it only triggered a wave of sick revulsion.

THUNK!

I slammed the knife down, pivoted away from his embrace and faced him.

“Sebastian.” My voice scraped out, harsh and brittle. “Do I… embarrass you?”

He frowned. “What?”

“Am I… less?” I threw his son’s words back at him, the dam breaking. “Jordan felt embarrassed! Because when his friends asked where his Mom was during his own party, he had no answer! Because you didn’t tell him the truth!” Tears streamed. “He said Joey was… perfect. He wants me to be her! Look what you did, Sebastian! You made your son think I abandoned him!”

A heartbeat of stillness. A flicker – something like panic? guilt? – vanished instantly from his eyes.

“Haley, I…” His voice lowered, adopting that smoothing, calming cadence. Utterly false. “I didn’t see it hitting you like this. About Grandma that day…” He paused, his gaze sliding away, fingers unconsciously rubbing his jawline. “…I thought, why sour the party with worry? Keep things light for the boy. As for Joey?” He shrugged dismissively. “She… pitched in. Handled things when Jordan fell sick. Made it easier. That’s all. She won’t ever… interfere with us. I promise you.”

“LIAR!” My shriek ripped through the kitchen. “Spare the party? So you fed our son a lie about his mother?!”

“‘Easier’?!” A bitter laugh escaped me, sharp as broken glass. “She got him to call her Mom! She took over my place at his birthday! And you let her! You stood by while she tore me down!” The fury and shame erupted, volcanic. I stumbled back, shoulder blades hitting the cold cabinets behind me. My hand instinctively fumbled on the counter, fingers closing around the cold steel hilt of the knife I’d slammed down moments before. The sharp edge bit deep into my palm – a grounding, terrible anchor. “I’m DONE with your lies!”

I screamed it, the blade clutched white-knuckled in my shaking hand, “Joey is everywhere! In your mother’s head! In your son’s dreams! Where do I fit?! In the corner of the lie you built?!”

At that exact second—

“Mommy?!”

A terrified gasp ripped through the air.

Jordan stood frozen in the doorway. Paper-white. His eyes, enormous with shock and sheer terror, were locked not on my face, but on the kitchen knife gripped tight in my hand. Held up. His thin voice shook, shrill with panic:

“Are you… are you going to hurt Daddy?!”