I thought I had time to fix things. But Mom got
cancer. She hid it from me. By the time I found
out and got her to the hospital, it was too late.
I sat there, weeping, consumed by guilt. A
knock startled me. I thought it was Ethan,
bringing Buon to analogize
Anami I fling
2
<
bringing Evan to apologize. Angry, I flung open
the door.
It was Ashley, holding a mug of ginger tea, and
a chubby little boy, about four or five years old.
Seeing my stunned expression, Ashley sighed.
She led the boy inside, completely at ease. “Go
take a shower and change. You’re soaked.
Don’t want to catch a cold.”
Mom had kept a lot of my old clothes, neatly
folded in the closet. I emerged from the shower,
red–eyed, unsure what to do. The TV was on,
the little boy watching quietly. Ashley was
cleaning the apartment like she’d done it a
thousand times. She handed me a bowl of
freshly made porridge. “Eat,” she instructed,
then gestured to the boy. “This is my son, Alex.
He’s five.”
I almost choked on my porridge. “You got
married?” I wasn’t being judgmental, just
surprised. Ashley had been a staunchly
independent, anti–marriage type since high
school. We’d even made plans to open a
retirement home together someday.
<
Ashley raised an eyebrow. “Who says you need
to be married to have a kid? Catching up with
the times, are we?”
She explained that Alex was her son with her
“hottest ex.” They hadn’t lasted, but they’d
parted amicably. The father knew about Alex
and occasionally sent child support. He’d even
been a decent dad. But he’d gotten married last
year, and to avoid complications, Ashley cut off
contact.
“But what about him?” I asked, worried about
Alex. We’d been friends long enough that she
knew what I meant. She beckoned, and Alex
scampered over, looking up at her with bright,
puppy–dog eyes. Ashley squeezed his cheek.
“He’s got a big heart, takes after me. Doesn’t
care who his dad is.” She gave him a gentle
push, and he turned to me, wrapping his small
arms around my leg.
“Hi, Auntie! You’re so pretty! Can you be my
mommy too?”
That one word, “Mommy,” hit me hard. Evan
was a tyrant at home, his behavior growing
く
increasingly worse. He played cruel pranks on
me, enjoying my anger. And somewhere along
the way, he stopped calling me “Mom,” using
my full name instead. It had been so long.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, warmed by
Alex’s innocent plea. I knelt down and pinched
his cheek. “I called dibs on being your
godmother before you were even born, sweetie.
So, of course.”
Alex cheered, hugging my neck tightly. He was
like a fluffy golden retriever puppy. Much cuter
than Evan.
Ashley’s dry voice drifted over us. “I thought
someone had forgotten all about our little pact.”
Never. You’re my best friend. If Ethan hadn’t
insisted on isolating me after we got married,
forbidding me from contacting anyone, we
wouldn’t have drifted apart.
Speak of the devil. My phone rang. It was
Ethan.
“Where are you?” His familiar voice, smooth
and laced with irritation, filled my ear. Ashley
gestured for Alex to lower the TV volume, then
<
folded her arms and glared at me. Alex,
mimicking his mother, copied her pose,
watching me with wide eyes. They were
adorable. I couldn’t help but smile.
Ethan, hearing my silence, softened his tone.
“Evan can’t sleep. He wants you to read him a
bedtime story. Don’t be mad at him, Ally.”
There it was. Every time Evan and I clashed, it
was the same line. Don’t be mad at him. As if
no matter what Evan did, I shouldn’t react.
Because Evan adored him, Ethan didn’t feel the
sting of those tiny, needle–like hurts. He
brushed it off as childish antics, something
adults shouldn’t take seriously.
I sighed, exhausted. And done. “When are you
coming back?”
Ethan chuckled, as if he’d expected the
question. Before his trip, his flirty assistant had
sent me a picture. It showed her draped against
him, clutching his loosened tie, while he leaned
back against his desk, a faint smile playing on
his lips. Nothing overtly inappropriate, but the
pose, the atmosphere…it was obvious.
<
I was already stressed about Mom’s illness. The
picture was the last straw. We had a huge fight
—
well, I yelled, he watched me with amused
detachment. He only deigned to speak when I
was near tears. His excuse? She’d tripped while
fixing his tie. He hadn’t touched her.
I’d pressed him. Why did he need someone else
to fix his tie? He might not have touched her,
but he hadn’t pushed her away either. Did he
have no sense of boundaries as a married man?
He tried to placate me, but I wouldn’t back
down. He’d gotten annoyed, told me to calm
down, then left for the office. The next day, he
was gone. Ironically, it was his assistant who’d
informed me of his trip.
