Instead, she flooded social media with endless videos, at least eight hundred of them, showcasing Charles's picture-perfect little family.
Charles played with his son.
Charles taught the boy how to write.
Charles tenderly supported his pregnant mistress as they took a leisurely stroll.
And the captions, overflowing with joy, cut deeper than any blade.
[Daddy took the little one out for another fun trip!]
[My precious grandson is starting first grade this year! He even pouted and begged his dad for help with homework!]
[My son and daughter-in-law.]
The content was no different from what the paparazzi had captured, just ordinary, heartwarming family moments.
Yet, to me, they burned like salt on an open wound.
After a long silence, I finally left a comment beneath one of the posts.
[If she's your daughter-in-law, then who is the person listed as your son's spouse?]
The comment vanished almost instantly.
Seconds later, a 60-second voice message arrived from Leah.
"What nonsense are you spewing under my video? Do you even realize what people will think of my grandson if you say things like that? He's just a child! Do you want him to be labeled a bastard? How can you be so cruel?! Let me tell you, I haven't even begun to settle accounts with you! You refused to give my son a child, fine! But you even convinced him to get a vasectomy…"
Before I could react, more voice messages followed one after another, flooding my phone.
I thought I had cried all my tears in the past few days.
But hearing her gloat, twisting everything as if I were the villain, my eyes still burned, and the tears still fell.
I couldn't understand. How could people change so suddenly?
Leah, who once treated me like her own daughter, had turned into a stranger. And Charles, the man I had spent twenty years of marriage with, had become someone I no longer recognized.
When Charles returned, he found me sitting by the window, my voice lost from crying too much. He pulled me into his arms, the chill from outside still clinging to him.
Silently, he took off his coat and tucked my frozen hands inside his sweater, his warmth seeping into my skin.
For a fleeting moment, it felt like time had rewound twenty years to when we still loved each other fiercely.
Back then, we struggled. Isaiah had cut off every opportunity for Charles, trying to make him regret his decision to get a vasectomy. Because of that, he resented me, too.