Chapter 1

Alicia's POV

The wall inside our home was covered in award photos, but every woman standing beside Dad and me was a stranger.

"Simon! Who are these women in the pictures?"

Mom's voice was cold, her eyes locked on the wall as if she could burn straight through it.

I had no idea why she was so angry.

I stood there helplessly, at a loss for what to say.

The property manager wiped the sweat from her forehead, clearly uncomfortable. "Kid, you can't say things like that. Your mom's still alive."

She then left quickly, embarrassed.

That only made Mom angrier. The corner of her mouth twitched, and she didn't even notice the cake slipping from her hand and hitting the floor.

"You'd better come out here, Simon! I've only been gone two months, and you're telling people I'm dead? Is this what you've been teaching our daughter?"

I ran over, scared she would blame him. "It's not Dad's fault! He didn't teach me that. I said it on my own!"

Her expression darkened. She started pulling photo frames off the wall, ready to smash them, then stopped when she noticed the competition titles printed beneath the pictures.

Her hands froze. She looked at me, something complicated flickering in her eyes.

I stood there, tense, waiting.

What she didn't know was that after she stopped coming home two months ago, every time there was a parent-child event, Dad quietly paid someone to be my mom.

The noise must have carried, because Dad came out of the bedroom.

In just two months, his eyes had gone dull, his steps unsteady. He had lost so much weight that he looked almost hollow.

When he saw Mom, he didn't shout or cry or talk about divorce. He didn't lose control or force her to choose between him and Matthew Hunt. He just looked at her, his gaze cold and empty.

Mom fell silent. Guilt flickered across her face.

As if remembering something, she hurriedly pulled a brand new camera from her bag and handed it to him, her tone softening.

"I got you the camera you've always wanted. You said you wanted to get back into photography. I've already submitted your work to an international competition."

Dad glanced at it without expression. There wasn't even a hint of surprise.

I recognized the camera immediately. It was the one he had saved in his cart for two years. He never bought it because money was tight. When he finally asked Mom, she kept putting him off.

What she didn't know was that the one she bought was already outdated. Dad had already bought the newer model himself.

She frowned at his reaction, then sighed and pressed the camera into his hands, her voice turning coaxing.

"Alright, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have argued with you when you were already hurting after Brian passed. Don't worry. Things with Matthew are almost wrapped up. Just wait a little longer."

Wait a little longer.

I clenched my fists and stared at her. She had said that dozens of times in the past two months and never once followed through.

Dad held on through my baby brother's death in the hospital. He held on even as his depression got so bad that he started hurting himself. Even then, she never came back.

All she ever said was, "I told you, he's my mentor's son. He's like a brother to me. Why are you still making a scene?"

Her phone rang suddenly.

She picked up quickly and put the call on speaker. A child's crying came through.

"Mom, come back! Dad's burning up. He collapsed and won't get up!"

Then a man's voice rang out, sharp and impatient. "Why are you calling her? We can't keep bothering her!"

I frowned, anger rising, ready to shout, "She's not your mom. She's mine!"

But Mom's eyes turned red. Her voice shook. "Matthew, what are you talking about? I wish you'd rely on me forever."

She tossed the camera onto the bed and grabbed her bag. "Simon, Matthew might be exhausted. I'm going to go check on him. I'll explain when I get back."

She rushed out.

Dad and I watched her leave.

We both knew she wasn't coming back tonight.