My Son Chose My Wife's First Love

Carla Ramsey was holding our son Dominic Hatfield's jacket in her hand, the one that was made when he was six months old.

While we were back in our hometown visiting relatives, Carla heard from the elders in the family that if parents were willing to collect cloth pieces from many families as a traditional blessing and sew them into a jacket lining, it would bless Dominic with long life.

At the time, my hand injury hadn't healed yet, so I couldn't do any fine work.

When I lowered my eyes, they were filled with dejection.

"It doesn't matter. Even without this jacket, I'll still protect Dominic and ensure he lives a long life."

That night, Carla drove out in the snow and bought an entire carload of cigarettes, alcohol, and tea. Then she went door to door, knocking and paying New Year's calls.

She traded a whole carload of gifts for piece after piece of cloth from 100 families.

The dignified CEO of Ramsey Group sat just like that in a rural room under dim light, stitching the jacket thread by thread.

At that time, I still thought this relationship had room to turn around.

Carla pressed her lips together and silently put the jacket on Dominic.

She was different from before.

The Carla I first knew was a famously cold-hearted player in the business world.

After just one business trip to Whitaker Island, her assistant, Hugo Cain, brought back so many luxury watches for Carla's various boyfriends that three safes couldn't hold them all.

But now she knew that when making formula for Dominic, she first had to test the temperature on the back of her hand. And when dressing him, she would carefully curl up his little hands.

Even when Dominic had a mild fever and was crying, neither I nor the nanny, Elena Denton, noticed anything unusual. Yet, Carla could immediately stop an online meeting and drive Dominic to the hospital.

All of this was once beyond even my dreams and prayers. But now that they were within easy reach, I no longer wanted them.

After dressing Dominic, I immediately stepped back two paces to put half an arm's length between Carla and me.

She frowned slightly and asked in an extremely low voice, "Max Hatfield, how long do you intend to keep provoking me? Are we really going to spend the rest of our lives tormenting each other like this?"

I lowered my eyes and answered softly, "I never meant for us to torment each other."

Carla's brows drew tightly together. She couldn't understand how I, who once had been willing to hurt myself a thousand times over just to keep her, had suddenly become like this.

"Max, you're holding all that anger inside. Whatever you're unhappy about, you can take it all out on me. If you keep bottling it up like this, you'll make yourself sick."

I gently shook my head, my eyes puzzled.

"I'm not unhappy about anything or holding any anger inside. I was too willful before. From now on, I won't act out, and I definitely won't go after Fred Reilly and hurt him. You can rest assured."

Carla's eyes were bloodshot.

"Max, you didn't used to be like this! Are you still holding a grudge against me over what happened half a year ago?"