I used to think his indifference was meant to ease my burden. I had even been grateful for his so-called understanding. But in the fifteenth year of our marriage, when I finally became pregnant, he had not been overjoyed. He had only forced a smile—a mere formality. And now, everything made sense.
But when I saw the photo of Willy kissing Sophia’s swollen belly, his face glowing with pure joy, I realized the cruel truth—he had already built a family with someone else.
And my Little Treasure? In his eyes, my child was nothing more than an unwanted burden, like an inflamed appendix that needed to be cut away as soon as possible.
No wonder. No wonder that every year on Liam’s birthday, Willy had always made excuses about urgent business trips abroad.
Because his other child’s birthday was only three days after Liam’s. He had to be there early, making sure everything was perfect—making sure his "real" child never felt neglected.
Heartbroken, I exited the page and called my best friend overseas. “I want to work for your company as a jewelry appraiser. I’ll see you in three days.” I also asked her for a few favors.
After finishing, I went to Liam’s room. Everything was still the same—the bedding still in place, his tiny pillow still carrying the faint scent of milk. But Liam would never return to sleep in it again.
Underneath his pillow, I found a small wishing bottle. Inside was a note, written by his teacher, recording his birthday wish.
"The teacher said a man must be brave, so this year, I finally gathered the courage to tell Daddy that I wanted a birthday present. But before I could even finish my sentence, Daddy walked away angrily. Actually, all I wanted was for Daddy to stay with me on my birthday, even just for an hour. Thirty minutes would be fine. I’d be happy… really happy."
Tears blurred my vision. Willy, is this what you saw as ambition? Was a child’s innocent wish truly that unbearable for you?
I printed the divorce papers that night, then clung to Liam’s quilt, breathing in his scent as I sobbed until dawn.
***
The next morning, Willy, despite his usual obsession with cleanliness, personally cleaned my wound, changed my bandages and carefully wrapped them with gauze.
The nanny beside us looked envious of his attentiveness, but my heart was dead inside.
He noticed my swollen, red eyes and sighed, his voice full of pain.