Chapter 3

I got into the car and headed home.

Not the one that was burned down–the other apartment.

When Leo and I got married, his family bought one place, and mine bought another. The one that burned was his.

However, when I slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open, I did not see Leo or Dominic.

Instead, I saw Maya–wearing my pajamas, acting like she owned the place.

"Oh, I thought Leo was back," she pouted, muttering to herself before slipping on my slippers and strolling back into the living room.

That's when I noticed it.

The home I carefully built piece by piece–every detail chosen with care–was now a mess.

Trash was everywhere.

The white carpet I used to keep spotless was stained with greasy red oil from takeout.

I did not ask her why she was here.

The answer was obvious.

Who else but that father-and-son pair who treated Maya like she hung the moon would do something like this?

Just because I did not ask did not mean she was not eager to show off.

Maya lounged on my sofa, munching on chips, crumbs falling into the cushions without a care in the world.

I frowned slightly.

She laughed like it was the funniest thing.

"Does it bother you? Your husband and son love how easygoing I am

"Do you know what they say about you, Shirley Kael? You're barely in your thirties, but you act like someone resurrected from some ancient dynasty.

"With a personality like yours, how could anyone like you?

"And now, it's even worse, isn't it? All that skin of yours–burned, right?"

As she spoke, she reached out and tried to lift my clothes.

I dodged, but not fast enough. She caught a glimpse.

The scar–twisted, ugly–made the pampered young lady stumble back in shock. She lost her footing and fell to the floor.

"Aunt Maya! Dad and I brought Cupcake home!"

Dominic burst in just then, holding a kitten. Seeing her on the ground, he immediately put the cat down and ran over, planting himself in front of her like some kind of little hero.

"You bad woman! You're bullying Aunt Maya again!"

He was covered in cat fur.

The moment he got close, my chest tightened. I could barely breathe. I quickly pulled out a tablet of loratadine from my bag.

Just as I was about to take one, Dominic snatched it out of my hand.

"Apologize to Aunt Maya right now, or I won't give it back!"

I looked at him coldly–this child I carried for seven months before giving birth.

He was premature, just a tiny, fragile bundle at birth. Even as he grew, his health stayed weak, always falling sick.

I had no idea how many times I'd rushed him to the hospital in my arms.

Later, under the doctor's guidance, I strictly controlled his diet and even made him exercise outdoors.

After Maya came back, I don't know what she told him.

He was still in primary school, yet he kept saying I took away his freedom.

At first, I thought it was just childish talk. I even found it a little amusing.

However, after the fire, I realized he truly resented me.

A child like this, I truly regret giving birth to him.

I did not do what he expected–lower myself and apologize to his precious Aunt Maya.

Instead, I took out a new strip of medicine from my bag, shot him a mocking glance, and swallowed a pill.

Dominic froze for a moment–then lunged at me, trying to hit me.

In the past, I might have stood there and let him, just because he was weak, letting him vent his anger.

However, now-

With a simple push, he fell straight to the ground.

"That's all the strength you've got? And you think you can play the hero?"