From His Wife’s Replacement to The Woman He Regrets LosingChapter 1
On the day my mother passed away, I wore a white dress to mourn her.
Seven-year-old Stephen Davis came rushing over, his small hands gripping a sharp pair of scissors. Before I could react, he slashed through the fabric and then dumped an entire bucket of cheap red paint over me.
"Today is my mom’s birthday! Who are you trying to curse by wearing such an unlucky color? She hated white the most!"
Like father, like son, their affections had always belonged to the same person.
A burning rash spread across my skin from the allergic reaction. As the thick paint dripped down my legs, mixing with the blood from fresh scratches, pain and itchiness twisted together into something unbearable.
Stephen sneered in satisfaction. "Don’t think that just because you married my dad, you get to be the lady of this house. That position will always belong to my mother!"
"You shameless homewrecker! Don’t even dream of me ever acknowledging your status!"
I looked at him, the child who carried my blood yet had crawled out of another woman’s womb, and suddenly, exhaustion settled deep into my bones.
So, blood ties meant nothing. Seven years of raising him couldn’t warm his heart.
"You don’t have to acknowledge me," I said, my voice calm. "Because I’m leaving."
——
The sharp scent of paint clung to my skin, stinging my nose and making my eyes water. A burning sensation spread across my face, tightening my expression in discomfort.
Stephen scoffed. "Serves you right! I hope your face rots away completely!"
"You scheming witch! Do you think that by copying my mother’s looks and making people say we resemble each other, you can take her place? Keep dreaming!"
His eyes blazed with fury as if he had suffered the greatest humiliation.
I had seen this tantrum countless times before.
Every time someone pointed out that Stephen didn’t resemble his late mother, that instead, he was starting to look more and more like me, he would explode in anger.
I used to comfort him, reassuring him that he was truly his mother’s son, that the resemblance was just a trick of familiarity from being around me for years.
But today, I didn’t have the patience.
I was exhausted.
I furrowed my brows slightly.
"Who said I had plastic surgery? You sleep with your mother's photo every night. If anyone should know whether I look like her or not, it's you."