Chapter 1

For all three years my son Liam has been in kindergarten, I haven't made it to a single school event.

It wasn't that I didn't try. Every time I mentioned it, he'd burst into tears and cling to my husband's leg.

"I don't want Mommy to come!"

This time, when his essay won a prize and there was an awards ceremony, my husband shut me down as expected.

"Liam wrote about 'My Mom.' He'd be embarrassed if you were there. I'll handle it."

I stayed silent and ironed my son's little suit.

But on the day of the ceremony, I slipped quietly into the back of the school auditorium.

The spotlight found my son as he read his essay in a clear, proud voice.

"My mom loves wearing red dresses. When she kisses me goodnight, she always smells like sweet perfume."

My blood ran cold.

I've never owned a red dress in my life. And I never wear perfume.

So who, exactly, was the "mom" in my son's essay?

The air conditioning in the auditorium was on full blast, but my back was already soaked with sweat.

On stage, Liam continued.

"It smells like roses!"

"Mom loves roses, so Dad buys them for her all the time. She always picks the prettiest one for me and says she loves me even more than her flowers."

I gripped the armrest so tightly my knuckles turned white. My mind was a mess.

I don't have red dresses. I don't wear perfume. And there's no way I smell like roses.

I'm allergic to them. They make me sneeze and my eyes itch.

Both Derek and Liam know this, so roses have never appeared in our home.

The mom Liam was talking about... wasn't me.

This horrifying realization was still sinking in when Liam's winning essay was projected onto the big screen.

Beside his childish handwriting was a drawing he'd made

The moment I saw it, I couldn't breathe.

It showed a family of three eating ice cream in front of a Ferris wheel-a man in black, a woman in a red dress, and a beaming Liam in the middle.

"Mom took me to the Disney castle and bought me a Mickey ice cream bar."

"Mom said she'll buy me anything I want."

Liam had always dreamed of going to Disney. I'd brought it up with Derek countless times.

But each time, he would check his schedule and give a weary sigh.

"The company is in a critical growth phase right now. I just can't get away. Soon, I promise. I'll take a long vacation, and we'll spend a whole week at Disney together."

I agreed. But then he turned to Liam.

"Your mom won't let you go to Disney."

Liam cried endlessly, taking all his frustration out on me.

I wanted to explain, but Derek stopped me.

"He's still young. He won't understand it. Just go along with it for now. When he's older, I'll explain it to him myself."

I had no choice but to agree.

Eventually, Liam stopped bringing up Disney.

I thought he'd lost interest, but I never imagined he'd already been there.

Derek's claim that he "didn't have time" apparently meant he didn't have time to go with me.

The next page appeared, and Liam's voice rang out again.

"Dad and Mom took me to catch crabs. Mom bought me lots of shell toys..."

"My mom is the most beautiful, the best mom in the whole world."

"I love my mom."

"Mom, when Liam grows up, Dad and I will protect you together!"

The essay ended.

Thunderous applause filled the auditorium. Only my hands and feet were ice cold.

Liam loves sweets, so I strictly control how often he eats candy, especially ice cream. But he still developed several cavities.

I took him to the dentist. He cried his heart out and called me a bad mom.

He's naturally allergic to seawater-it makes him break out in red rashes all over his body.

So I never take him to the beach and even gave up my favorite beach camping trips. But he still gets allergic reactions frequently.

I thought I was a complete failure as a mother, that somehow I had let him eat something else he was allergic to. I rushed him to the hospital for allergy testing. Again, he was miserable and called me a bad mom.

I told Derek how much it hurt. He just frowned and brushed it off.

"You're the adult. He's just a child. What's the point in arguing with him? When he's older, he'll understand you meant well."

Liam turned six this year. For six years, I've been the "bad mom." For six years, I've heard "your mom won't let you."

And through it all, I kept believing what Derek said. I held onto the hope that someday, Liam would understand.

But I was wrong.

Derek said "your mom won't let you," but out there, that other mom indulged Liam in everything, gave him whatever he wanted.

I was the bad mom because he had a good mom on the side.

The applause slowly died down. Liam waved happily, and I followed his gaze to the front row.

Derek sat right in the middle, wearing the suit I'd prepared for him.

And the woman sitting beside him, also clapping, was wearing a red dress.

The two of them went on stage together, each taking one of Liam's hands. The woman's eyes glistened with tears, and Derek tenderly wiped them away.

Everyone stood up, marveling at this happy family of three.

Only I remained seated, my nails digging into my fingertips until they bled.

I had come here expecting happiness.

But now I suddenly realized that happiness was never mine to begin with.