Chapter 3

They looked less like teacher and student and more like mother and son.

I sat in the audience, blood rushing to my head. I was so angry that my whole body trembled. "Is this what you meant when you said you wouldn't let her come out on stage?"

A flicker of panic crossed Matthew's eyes, but he soon frowned at me and said in a low voice, "Honey, I told them not to let her go on stage. But the competition rules say a student has to be accompanied by a teacher. There was nothing more I could do."

"Why are you so set against letting Ms. Lowell go on stage?" He frowned at me, puzzled, as if he thought I was being unreasonable.

I badly wanted to show him the messages between me and Vivian on my phone, but in the end I held back.

Once Matthew knew, he would never let me go.

And I was already tired of him.

I didn't say a word. His face darkened as he looked at me with unmistakable disappointment. "You used to be so big-hearted. You would never have picked on a teacher over something like this."

"Celestia, you've changed."

I almost laughed at the irony. Who was the one who had changed?

The atmosphere was stifling. I endured it out until my son's performance ended. I watched him walk over and hand me a certificate.

"Mom, I got first place. I owe it all to you. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be where I am today."

He said it with a bright smile, beaming with happiness.

I gripped the certificate, a hollow feeling rising. "Why did you give me a certificate, not the trophy?"

The smile on my son's face froze. As if afraid I'd take it from him, he hugged the trophy a little tighter and said quietly, "Mom, I promised the trophy to a classmate."

I stared at him. For the first time, my own son seemed like a complete stranger.

"What about me? You said you'd give the trophy to Mom. You lied to me."

I could hear how unreasonable I sounded. I was anxious and desperate, as if I needed that trophy to prove I still mattered more than anyone else.

My son looked bewildered, his eyes welling up as if he was about to cry. But all I felt was a chill settling in my heart.

Just then, Vivian walked over and gently patted my son's back, looking at me with disapproval.

"He's just a child, Mrs. Sinclair. It's only a trophy. Is this really necessary?"

The commotion caught Matthew's attention. He came over in a few strides, and once he'd heard what happened, he looked at me with open impatience.

"Hasn't Matthias given you enough trophies already? If he wants to give it to a classmate, let him. Why are you fighting a little kid over it?"

At those words, everyone around us started looking at me strangely, and whispers broke out all at once.

But was the trophy really for a classmate? I didn't believe it.

I looked at Vivian, feeling numb.

When I first met her, her father's gambling debts had brought people pounding on their door. She had been too scared to go home and was left with nowhere to turn.

I was the one who paid those debts off. When I learned she played the piano, I hired her as my son's teacher and paid her a generous salary.

Back then, she had been alone and helpless, with nothing to her name. Now, my beloved son clung to her as if she were his mother.

My husband, the man who loved me so deeply, couldn't take his eyes off her. Every now and then, he would glance at me with annoyance.

The two of them stayed close to Vivian, leaving me alone to endure the stares and whispers.

Only then did I realize that no one had been by my side for a long time.

I went through my son's celebration party in a daze. When I got home, I lay on the bed, exhausted. Then I saw Vivian had sent me another message.

I tapped it open, and the instant I saw what it was, my hands and feet went numb.

In the video, my son was smiling as he handed the trophy to Vivian. It was timestamped, too. He had given it to her before the celebration party.

In that moment, my exhausted mind went blank. Yet somehow, it felt as if I'd finally woken up.

That night, I started packing, even more decisively than before.

I no longer wanted anything Matthew or my son had ever given me.

Selling everything would take too much time, so I simply called a junk hauler to take everything away.

I took every photos off the walls and burned them.

The housekeeper panicked. "Ma'am, what are you doing? Mr. Sinclair will be angry when he sees this."

I slipped off my ring and said calmly, "This has nothing to do with you. If anyone asks, tell them I did it."

By the time the two of them came home, I had cleared out more than half of the house.

The house was nearly empty. Even the family photos on the walls were gone.

A flicker of panic crossed Matthew's eyes. "Honey, where are our family photos? Where's everything I gave you?"

My son ran over and grabbed my hand, looking a little lost. "Mom, are you still mad?"

His face was full of hurt. "Mom, where are our family's cartoon mugs? I drew them myself."

Once, I had treasured them. But now I pulled my hand free. "They've been used too long. It’s time to replace them."

I didn't want the mugs anymore. And I didn't want either of them.