Chapter 3
When I woke up again, it was 5 AM.
Despite my hangover from the previous night, my internal clock still woke me up right on schedule,
Over all those years, for every breakfast, Rhys would drink freshly ground hand drip coffee, while our son only ate freshly made bacon sandwiches paired with fresh milk delivered that same day.
The father and son had impossibly delicate tastes–complaining that the nanny’s cooking “had a fridge smell” and dismissing outdoor breakfasts as “unhealthy.”
So every morning, I’d get up two hours early just to ensure they could enjoy something fresh and healthy by 7 AM, but today, I forced myself to roll over and go back to sleep.
Some time later, a series of knocks jolted me awake, and I opened the door with disheveled hair to find my son, Noah, standing there.
“Stinky mommy! Bad mommy! Why aren’t you up making breakfast for me and daddy? I’m starving!”
I yawned and replied casually, “I’m taking the day off.”
“No way!” He suddenly lunged forward, pounding his little fists against my nightgown. “Auntie Mel says good mommies make food even when they’re sick!”
“Well, I’m not your good mommy. Ask the housekeeper if you’re hungry.”
Hearing my refusal again, Noah suddenly transformed into an enraged little beast, plopping down on the floor and bursting into tears.
“The housekeeper’s food is disgusting! Daddy, mommy won’t cook for me! Call Auntie Mel to come over–her breakfast is amazing, and she actually WANTS to cook for me!”
Rhys poked his head out from downstairs, dark circles under his eyes suggesting he hadn’t slept all night.
“Viv, don’t take your anger out on the child.”
“If you’re tired and don’t want to cook, I can call Melody over.”
I said nothing, just walked straight into the bathroom where I thoroughly washed up and applied makeup before putting on my suit, ready to leave.
Before I could get downstairs, I heard Rhys talking to Melody on the phone.
As I passed by him, he suddenly grabbed my wrist.
14:05
Screw You, Ex! My New Life’s Hotter Than Your Money!
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When I arrived home and the motion sensor lights flickered on, 1 spotted suitcases in the living room where Khrys
Sear the doon, a 1611 box emblazoned with Hermes logo sat brazenly in the entryway–the exact designer bag
Bearing we enter, Kirys didn’t even bother to look up as he stated, “Last minute business trip. Taking Noah with me.”
bddenly in phone rang, and he answered immediately, with Melody’s laughter leaking through the speaker, waking him narrow his eyes like a contented cat–an expression I knew all too well, exactly how he looked when he wwed me five years ag
***** T*,**6 My sewer’s Home Than Your Money
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loticing me watching, he instantly wiped the smile off his face, ended the call, and challenged, “Since you clearly on’t want to take care of Noah lately, I’m taking him with me. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”
remained silent without arguments or protests as he efficiently tied his shoelaces, took our son, and left.
he door slammed shut so forcefully that our wedding photo fell from the wall, the shattering of the glass frame
aking a crisp, almost pleasant sound,
crouched down, picking up the fragments piece by piece, suddenly feeling incredibly light.
