My Son's New Mother

The plane landed, and I went straight to my son's elementary school by cab.

My son, Tony Garnder, was seven years old and was in first grade. It was currently 1:40 pm. The first class of the afternoon had just started.

The security guard was diligent. The moment he learned I was a parent, he called the homeroom teacher. A few minutes later, a young woman in a white blouse and a black skirt came running out. She looked fresh out of college.

Her appearance was ordinary, but her voice was gentle and soft when she spoke. My intuition as a woman told me she was exactly who I was looking for. Sure enough, the second she saw me, she panicked.

Her face went deathly pale, and her hands trembled uncontrollably, like she had just come face-to-face with a wild animal.

"I-Is there something you need at the s-school?" Her voice shook so badly that she could barely get the words out.

Yet, she had the nerve to announce in the group chat that she was Tony's mother.

"I saw the message in the group."

Right in front of the security guard, I laid it all out.

"You said you're Tony's mother? I'm curious about that."

Her hands tightened at her sides for a split second. Then, she glanced nervously at the guard and forced a smile as she explained, "Oh, that. It's because the school has a parent-teacher conference coming up, and Tony's father said he and his wife are both too busy to attend.

"He asked me to pretend on their behalf so that Tony wouldn't be sad. I'm really sorry if this has caused you any trouble!"

It was the perfect explanation. Not only did it clear her of any wrongdoing, but it also threw shade at me for being away on business. If I had not studied her social media posts carefully, I might have actually believed her.

8:00 pm on Wednesday, she posted a photo of a man's back. He had bought her roses, and they were at the theater. The caption read: [The man I love isn't a prince. He's a king.]

The next day, I ended up in the hospital with an allergic reaction to flowers.

6:00 pm on Friday, during a torrential downpour, she posted a selfie of herself taking shelter under the school eaves. The caption read: [When will my king come pick me up and take me home?]

Three minutes later, my husband, Victor Gardner, sent me a message. "Honey, I have to work late tonight. I can't pick up our son. Sorry to make you do it."

I had been getting an IV at the hospital when I received the message. The medication made me drowsy, and by the time I saw it, two hours had already passed.

No one picked up Tony. He stood in the cold wind at the security booth for two full hours. That night, his fever spiked to 102 degrees.

On the way to the hospital, Victor kept sighing. He kept blaming me for not checking my phone.

At that time, I truly believed I was a terrible mother. I stroked my son's flushed face and apologized to him all night long.