Steven gripped my chin with his other hand. His grip was firm and unyielding, preventing me from turning away. Following that, his lips pressed down on mine. "You'll enjoy it." … Zachary was in his final year of kindergarten. School started at 8:00 am sharp every day. The kindergarten was a 20-minute drive from home. To make sure he wasn't late, we would leave by 7:30 am every morning, so I woke up at 6:30 am to prepare breakfast. That morning's breakfast was simple—ravioli I had prepared the night before. What was a bit more work was the soup base. I had to make fresh chicken soup. I laid some herbs at the bottom of the pot, placed a whole cleaned chicken inside, and added some vegetables on top. I covered the pot and let it boil on high heat. Once it started boiling, I lifted the lid, and the rich aroma of chicken soup filled the kitchen. I added a bit of salt, then lowered the heat to let it simmer. After finishing everything, I left the kitchen satisfied and went to the walk-in closet to pick out outfits for Zachary and Steven. Steven, as the CEO of his company, dressed more formally. Zachary, being a child, mostly wore comfortable and practical clothes. Once I laid out the outfits in their respective bedrooms, they were almost done getting ready. I took that opportunity to ladle the chicken soup and cook the ravioli. The chicken soup was already hot, so it didn't take long to boil. I put enough ravioli for all three of us into the pot and waited quietly for it to cook. "Mommy!" I turned around upon hearing Zachary's angry voice and saw him rushing toward me with his tablet. He was furious. "Did you delete Ms. Jessie's contact and leave the group chat we were in?" I looked at his flushed, angry face and shook my head. "No." But I could understand Zachary's feelings. He was still too young to grasp right from wrong. In his eyes, Jessica let him indulge in things. He could eat freely and play as he pleased. So, to him, Jessica was his favorite person. Even if we adults cut off his connection with Jessica for his own good, he wouldn't be able to accept it. I had prepared myself for his anger, but I hadn't expected his words to be so hurtful. "Who else would do that other than you?" Zachary glared at me. "No wonder everyone says Daddy doesn't like you! Women like you, who want to control every detail of other people's lives, don't deserve to be loved!" Even though I had anticipated him losing control and saying extreme things, I still told myself that I should be understanding. I was his mother, after all. However, I overestimated myself. His words were like a sharp arrow, effortlessly piercing through my tough facade and driving deep into my heart. So I was really so detestable in Zachary's eyes? My hand trembled uncontrollably. "Daddy doesn't like me? Then, who does he like?" Zachary puffed his cheeks. "Ms. Jessie, of course! He told me himself that he liked her long before!" "Really?" My mind went blank. "How do you know this?" Zachary tilted his head. "Daddy told me, of course. Why else would he always take me to play with Ms. Jessie?" His innocent, straightforward response only made his words sting more. True. If Steven didn't like Jessica, he wouldn't have kept in contact with her. Their recent interactions had been unnervingly frequent. Steven's feelings for Jessica were clear. It felt as though a large hand was gripping my heart tightly. In that instant, a sharp pain shot through me. "Daddy must really like Ms. Jessie. The way he looks at her is different from how he looks at you. "He said he hasn't divorced you yet because he doesn't want me to end up in a single-parent family like you, as it could be bad for my development. "He's also worried that if he divorces you, you'll cling to him or hurt someone out of control." I looked at Zachary, who was only five years old, his voice still soft and innocent. But the things he said were far beyond what I could imagine—so extreme and hurtful. I tried to convince myself that he was only saying these things because he was upset. But my hands still trembled uncontrollably. Just then, the ravioli was done. The aroma filled my nose. I forced myself not to think about Zachary's words as I served him a bowl. Worried it might be too hot for him, I placed it on the table. "Eat up." However, Zachary took the bowl with both hands and slammed it onto the floor. The bowl shattered with a loud crash, and the chicken ravioli soup splattered everywhere. "Zachary Pelham! There's a limit to how much you can throw a fit. Have you forgotten all the manners I taught you?" My anger flared up as well. Our eyes locked, neither of us willing to back down. Zachary, not getting the response he wanted, was visibly unhappy. After pushing me, he cried as he ran off. "I don't need you to teach me! I hate you!" He didn't push me very hard, but I still stumbled and almost fell. I stared in disbelief at Zachary's retreating figure. We usually got along well. However, given his young age and undeveloped sense of judgment, he often said and did the wrong things. Even if they occasionally hurt me, I would explain to him calmly afterward what was wrong. He'd then figure out how to fix it. Usually, in situations like this, he'd come up to me, wrap his arms around my neck, and say, "Mommy, I said something that made you sad, did I? I'll remember that, and I won't say it again." Then, he'd nuzzle his face against mine. But none of that was happening now. I steadied myself against the stove. My tears fell uncontrollably. Why had he become like this? Was it really because of my parenting methods? I reflected on myself seriously. I had been too strict with him before. He was young and didn't understand that everything I did was for his own good. All he felt was pressure. Meanwhile, Jessica's unrestrained indulgence made him feel relaxed, so he slowly drifted toward her and away from me. If I eased up on him, would it mend our relationship? I took another bowl from the rack. Zachary's food was now ruined, but Steven hadn't eaten yet. Unlike before, I didn't serve him his ravioli but instead placed the empty bowl on the table and sat down. I had to admit that my mind was a jumble of thoughts at this moment. When Steven came in and saw the empty bowl, he was stunned for a second. "What's wrong?" I held back my emotions. "Zachary found out he's no longer in the group chat and couldn't find Jessica's contact, so he got upset and broke his bowl. I don't think he's in the mood for my cooking today. You can drop him off at school. He can eat there." Steven nodded. "Okay." He got up and served himself some ravioli. "Don't be upset, honey. Don't take it to heart." I looked at him, Zachary's words echoing in my mind. I wanted to ask him what was really going on, but I stopped. What could I say if he questioned why I took a child's words seriously? Yet saying nothing left me feeling suffocated. Feeling a lump of frustration, I still spoke up, "About yesterday…" "Don't worry," Steven said, as if he knew my concerns. Smiling, he reached over the table to ruffle my hair. "I promised you I'd take care of it." Upon hearing his assurance, I felt slightly relieved. "Okay. Let's eat." Once he cut ties with Jessica, I'd do my best to act like his affections had never wavered—that he'd always been my loving husband and a caring father. After all, we were once a happy family. … After finishing breakfast, Steven headed to Zachary's room to get him ready for school. Zachary came out, dressed and ready. But when he saw me, he huffed and turned away. Sulking, he held Steven's hand and headed for the door. Steven stood at the door and said goodbye. Like every other day, they set off, leaving me alone in the house. My task was the same as always—cleaning up the mess they left behind. It was a repetitive and tedious process. I began with the shattered bowl on the floor, the scattered ravioli, and the spilled soup, then moved on to the used dishes on the table and yesterday's clothes. Once everything was tidied up, I started mopping, going from the living room to the bedrooms, and finally, to the study. When I opened the study door, I saw a photo and two open letters on the desk. The photo was of Jessica's young, lively face. The letter on the left was in Steven's handwriting. He had only written two sentences. "Jessica, even though your past betrayal hurt me deeply, I can still forgive you. If you're willing to give us another chance, I'll call off the wedding with Annalise right away." My mind went blank at once.