Chapter 2
My reflection in the glass stared back at me.
He had betrayed our years–long love.
It was time for them to realize–I was more than just a housewife.
A gold–medal–worthy reporter knew exactly how to reclaim justice.
“Mom, we made a craft today! Look!” My son excitedly pulled a picture frame out of his backpack.
My hand froze.
Inside the frame was a photo of my son, Anthony, and Fiona, smiling brightly together.
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Chapter 2
The caption read: “The family I love the most.”
“Sweetheart, where’s mommy?” I forced the words out, my voice trembling.
My son blinked up at me. “Fiona says a family is the people who are always together. But you’re always so busy, you never spend time with me.”
Tears nearly welled up in my eyes.
I was busy–cooking, doing laundry, taking care of you and Dad. But to you, none of that mattered. Not compared to Fiona’s warm embrace.
Dinner still had to be made.
I chopped the vegetables with force, the knife thudding against the cutting board.
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Chapter
“What’s your problem now?” Anthony frowned. “You’re scaring our son.”
“Fiona doesn’t make any noise when she cooks, my son muttered quietly.
I flinched. The knife slipped, slicing my finger.
Blood dripped onto the white radish, blooming like a flower.
Late that night, I dug out my old press badge and recorder.
I hit play, and my son’s sweet voice filled the room. “Mommy’s the best! I love mommy the most!”
The recording was from a year ago.
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Back then, we were still a family.
The next day, I sat across from the kindergarten, wearing sunglasses.
Fiona clicked in on her high heels, a swarm of children rushing to greet her. My son was in the front, charging straight into her arms.
“Fiona, Daddy said he’s taking us to the amusement park next week!”
“Shh, that’s our little secret,” Fiona winked playfully.
I opened my banking app. Sure enough, the transactions stood out:
“To Fiona: $500,000 – Reason: Down payment for school district property”
“To Fiona: $300,000 – Reason: Investment
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management”
“To Fiona: $200,000 – Reason: Living expenses”
No wonder last month, when I bought a thousand–dollar pair of sneakers, he had to mock me for it.
I sneered. I was a fool, kept in the dark for three years.
The workday ended.
I saw Anthony’s car parked in front of the kindergarten. As Fiona got in, he gently opened the car door for her.
How ironic.
We had been married for years, yet he hadn’t opened the car door for me in ages.
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On my way home, I passed by the family portrait studio. In the window hung our photo from last year.
How forced my smile had been back then.
I hadn’t imagined that, by next year, someone else would be in my place in the family
photo.
At the entrance, my son’s handmade picture frame sat in the center of the cabinet, glaring in its position.
I couldn’t hold back any longer. I broke down and sobbed uncontrollably.
It turned out, in this family, I was nothing but an outsider.
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