Years of Regrets, Fleeting Farewells

My eyes burned as I sat frozen, my mind spinning out of control.

My son, Liam, huffed in frustration.

“Mom, say something. Dad gave you a choice. You’re not as young or pretty as Aunt Abigail. Are you that slow, too?”

A sharp ache pierced my chest. I couldn't breathe.

Liam’s irritation only grew.

“There you go, crying again. You’re so pathetic. This is why I hate being seen with you.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Oh, and last week’s parent-teacher conference? It wasn't canceled. I had Aunt Abigail go instead.”

The words hit me like a physical blow.

I stared at him in disbelief.

In all six years of elementary school, Liam had never let me attend a single school meeting.

When he finally asked me to go last week, I was so thrilled I couldn't sleep.

Then came the sudden, violent allergic reaction on the morning of the event.

Desperate not to be late, I swallowed a handful of emergency pills and tried to push through it.

Liam had acted shocked that I was so sick, then casually claimed the meeting was pushed back.

Now, the pieces finally clicked together.

Seeing how pale I turned, Danny spoke up, completely unbothered.

“You guessed right. I put the allergen in your food.”

He shrugged. “Don’t blame your son. It wasn't going to kill you.”

Wasn't going to kill me?

I let out a shaky, bitter laugh.

He had no idea.

The medication only delayed the reaction.

That night, my fever spiked. I threw up until I was dry-heaving, unable to get off the floor.

If I hadn't managed to dial 911 right before passing out, I would be in a grave.

And where were they while I was fighting for my life?

They were out watching fireworks with Abigail.

When they came home the next day and saw me hooked up to IVs, Liam just laughed.

“Mom is so weak. She’s just in her thirties, but she acts like a grandma.”

My heart bled.

When we got home, Danny sent Liam to his room.

For a brief second, I thought he was going to apologize.

Instead, he turned to face me. His eyes were dark, unreadable.

“There is one condition if you don't want to get a divorce.

“When Abigail has her baby, you’re going to help raise it.”

The words shattered me.

“What?” I managed to whisper.

“Abigail’s pregnant. Two months.”

Two months ago. The exact week my mother passed away.

Danny ignored my deathly pale face and continued casually.

“You were sobbing on the phone. I knew you needed me. But Abigail was clingy that night, and I couldn't pull myself away.”

A wild scream tore from my throat. I swung my hand and slapped him as hard as I could across the face.

“You monster!”

Danny’s head snapped sideways. He slowly turned back to look at me, his eyes dead and cold.

“I know I’m a bastard. But you’re no saint either, are you? You cheated on me first.”

Lightning flashed outside the window, illuminating the raw horror on my face.

It had been five years. I thought I had buried that trauma.

But hearing him bring it up so casually ripped the scar wide open.

Back when Danny first started his business, he was broke and desperate.

One night, he came home dead drunk and demanded I deliver an urgent file to a potential investor at a luxury hotel.

I hesitated. The location made me uncomfortable.

Danny snapped. He grabbed my shoulders, shouting in my face.

“Do you have any idea what I’m going through for this family? Why are you so selfish?

“How are we supposed to give Liam a good life if you won't even do this simple favor?!”

As I was left with no choice, I went to the hotel.