My Half-Vampire Son Painted Another Woman as Mom

Iris's POV

I hid among the crowd, the world spinning around me.

My husband and my son greeted the woman in the red dress with warm smiles, standing together at the center of the crowd like the picture-perfect family.

Meanwhile, I stood with a surgical mask pulled low, invisible as a stranger.

Lucien and Luke were still wearing the suits I'd ironed for them. I'd tied their ties that morning.

Yet now, they were calling another woman "wife" and "Mom."

"My mom is so good to me. She encourages my art and never pressures me. She takes me on trips and walks all the time. Most of the paintings in this exhibition are about my mom."

My son flashed a bright, innocent grin, clinging to the woman's hand with complete trust.

At home, he'd never once smiled at me like that. All I ever got was cold indifference and impatience.

I'd thought it was because Luke was half-vampire, half-human---that the pressure of being different made him act that way toward me.

Now I knew the truth. There was another mother out there indulging his every whim.

"That's right, we go on family outings all the time so he can find inspiration in nature. My wife has always believed in nurturing through joy. She's poured her heart into cultivating our son's artistic talent. This family's happiness is all thanks to this selfless, devoted mother."

Lucien pulled the woman in the red dress closer, his eyes brimming with tenderness.

My entire body trembled. My nails dug into my palms until they nearly broke the skin.

It was Lucien who'd told me Luke's artistic talent shouldn't go to waste, that I should devote myself to nurturing it.

I was the one who'd stayed up countless nights contacting galleries, calling in favors from former colleagues, setting up the exhibition space until everything was perfect.

Yet Lucien and Luke never let me see the paintings. Every time I finished moving the easels and hanging the frames, they'd send me away, claiming I'd criticize a child's work and hurt Luke's feelings.

But I had never criticized his work. Even his basic brush-stroke exercises---I praised every single one.

Still, Luke refused to let me see his real pieces. The moment I got close, he'd become visibly agitated.

Lucien always said he was too busy to take me and Luke on trips together. The company was at a critical juncture, he couldn't get away.

I was always understanding. But then he'd turn around and tell our son: "Your mother said your fundamentals still need work. You should focus on practicing at home instead of getting ahead of yourself."

After that, Luke wouldn't speak to me for days, directing all his resentment at me.

Every time I tried to explain, Lucien would stop me. "I'm already too busy with work. I'm barely home. If Luke finds out it's because of me that he can't go on trips, he'll resent me."

Then he'd put his arm around me. "When Luke grows up, he'll understand. You're the one by his side every day---how could he ever truly hate you?"

I believed him. I thought he was working so hard to give us a better life, so I couldn't bear to ruin his image in front of our son.

I willingly played the villain in our family, never knowing that Luke would never understand me.

Now, the other mother was gently stroking his hair, and Luke looked up at her with a radiant smile.

As if they were the real family.

The three of them counted down together and pulled away the cloth covering the centerpiece painting.

In the oil painting, Lucien and the woman stood on either side of Luke, holding his hands, smiling with pure happiness.

The background was a serene estate---the dream home I'd once described to Lucien. A swing, a garden, a small fountain inside a white fence---every detail exactly as I had imagined it.

The pain hit me so hard I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't watch anymore.

Applause, congratulations, camera shutters---they piled up behind me as I walked away from the center of the gallery, step by step.