Chapter 5
Under the watchful eyes of the gathering crowd, I pulled out a finely crafted
sandalwood box I had prepared beforehand. Placing it carefully in Maxwell’s hands, I looked at him with unwavering sincerity. “This is the Martin Family heirloom,” I began, my voice steady despite the weight of the moment. “I intended to pass it on to Milo as my chosen successor.”
I paused, the ache in my chest barely contained. “Even though he refuses to acknowledge me as his mother, in my heart, he will always be my son. I’m entrusting this heirloom to you–as a blessing for your family’s harmony and happiness.”
Maxwell’s expression morphed into one of pure disbelief, his widened eyes signaling a
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mix of shock and hesitation. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he opened the box, revealing an antique gold lock, its surface worn smooth by time.
The crowd collectively froze, momentarily breathless.
“Is that really the Martin Family heirloom? Has Seraphina completely lost her mind? She’s blessing those traitors?”
“After everything, she’s still doing this? Unbelievable. Who could suffer betrayal like that and not snap?”
“This is heartbreaking. She gave her all to a husband and son who discarded her like this…”
“But this is pathetic! Why doesn’t she stand up for herself?”
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– 3 Ports
“Exactly! She’s the textbook definition of a doormat–giving up everything and leaving with nothing!”
Their murmurs of disdain rippled through the onlookers, each word cutting deeper.
Then, Amelia clapped slowly, her smirk sharp enough to wound. “Seraphina, honestly, when you sponsored me back in the day, I thought you were just a clueless woman with more money than sense. But now? Now I see you’re more than that. You’re the saddest, most pathetic doormat anyone could ever meet.” Her derision dripped like poison.
Milo, my son–the one I raised, the one I sacrificed for–curled his lip in disgust. “Thank God you’re not my real mother, he spat. “You’re an embarrassment.”
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Maxwell scoffed openly, raking a hand through his hair as though exasperated. “Marrying you, Seraphina, was the biggest mistake of my life. Do us both a favor and don’t tell anyone we were ever connected. I don’t have room in my life for someone like *you* dragging me down.”
Without even the courtesy of a final glance, Maxwell slung his arm around Amelia’s shoulders, and, flanked by my son, they strode out of the press conference as though I no longer existed.
Moments later, the incident hit social media like wildfire. Livestreams spread across the country, capturing every bitter insult, every ounce of humiliation. The flood of commentary was endless.
“Did this woman come pre–installed with a
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‘Desperate for Love‘ feature? She just gifted that garbage family an heirloom, *and* a blessing?”
“Unreal. They’ve crushed her underfoot, and she still smiles at them? It’s maddening!”
“I’m cringing so hard I can’t take it. How does one let themselves sink this low?”
“Enough with these blood–boiling trending topics. My stress levels can’t handle this story!”
Though outrage dominated the narrative, the reactions were mixed. Some pitied me, while others tore into me for my perceived weakness.
A small group of strangers, perhaps well–meaning, reached out with a peculiar form of advice. “Why not capitalize on this
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mess? Livestream your ‘tragic story. At least turn your pain into profit and claw back some of what you’ve lost.”
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