1 Six months postpartum, and my husband had told me nineteen times that since I couldn't produce breast milk, I wasn't fit to be a mother. As our son, Leo, screamed with hunger, my husband, Landon, forgot to pick up the formula from the building's package room for the nineteenth time. But in the pocket of his coat, I found a receipt from a rush courier service. The order details were stark: Painkillers for cramps and a heating pad for my baby. When Landon saw me holding it, he snatched it back, his voice as cold as ice. "Leo's formula has a long shelf life. Regular shipping is fine." He paused, his tone softening with an infuriatingly feigned concern for another woman. "But Mia's cramps are unbearable. Every minute she has to wait is another minute of pain for her." I pointed a trembling finger at our son, who was on the verge of crying himself unconscious. "Don't you know that infants can get hypoglycemia? That they can't be left to starve?" Landon's voice was sharp with impatience. "This is all because you stopped breastfeeding after two months! Even Mia said she's never seen a mother give up so easily!" The old me would have dissolved into tears, would have screamed and demanded an explanation. But this time, I was just tired. A deep, soul-crushing weariness had settled in my bones. Without a word, I put on my raincoat and, under Landon's surprised gaze, plunged into the downpour. I hurried to the package room and gave the woman at the counter my pickup code. Her face was a mask of sour disapproval. She rummaged around on the lowest shelf before pulling out a dented box of formula and slamming it onto the counter so hard it fell and hit my foot. A sharp, throbbing pain shot up my ankle, which was already turning red and swollen. "Excuse me?" I stared at her, confused. She was even more agitated than I was, planting her hands on her hips. "Were you the one who called and screamed at me last night? Are you crazy or something?" She leaned over the counter, her voice rising. "I called your husband three times yesterday afternoon telling him to pick up this package. He didn't answer. Then you call me at midnight, accusing me of being a homewrecker trying to steal your man?" I froze, the blood draining from my face. Last night at midnight, Leo had been fussy, refusing to sleep. I had paced the living room for what felt like hours, my back screaming in protest, the ten-pound weight of my son an anchor dragging me down. I'd called Landon again and again, desperate for him to come home and help, but he declined every call. A moment later, a text popped up: In a late meeting. He was with Mia. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I apologized profusely to the woman at the counter, then limped home, clutching the formula to my chest. As the rain lashed down, my phone rang. It was Landon. "You're a stay-at-home mom," he snapped, his voice dripping with annoyance. "Shouldn't you be at home with the baby? Where did you run off to now? Leo won't stop crying. Are you even fit to be a mother?" I pressed my lips together, silent. "Answer me! You haven't worked in six months, Norah. Has the great journalist forgotten how to speak?" "I went to the mailroom to get the formula." There was a pause on his end, then his voice returned, cold as ever. "You left without saying a word. How was I supposed to know where you went? Fine. It's pouring out. I'll come down and get you." I glanced at my swollen, throbbing ankle and refused. "No. Don't you know you can't leave an infant alone? It's dangerous." He hung up before I could finish. When I finally staggered back into the apartment, Landon was on a video call with Mia. She was asking him if a white, ethereal dress would look good for her photoshoot in the woods tomorrow. As she spoke, she preened in front of the camera, slipping the dress off to reveal nothing but lingerie underneath. I heard Landon call her "Luna," and a sharp pain lanced through my chest. Years ago, when we were chasing stories together, he used to call me Luna. He said I was his moon goddess, for life. Now, not even a decade later, his vows had curdled into lies. Before I could even mix the formula, Leo shifted on the sofa, about to roll off the edge. I lunged, catching him just in time, startling Landon. "Norah! Are you spying on me? God, you're so suffocating!" But then he saw our son, who had almost hit the floor, and my swollen, discolored ankle. He fell silent. Mia's haughty voice drifted from the phone. "Norah, darling, you were a famous reporter. You should know a thing or two about privacy. I'm practically naked here!" I scoffed. So she did know she shouldn't be seen like this. "And a little piece of advice," she continued, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. "A man is like sand in your hand. The tighter you squeeze, the faster he slips away." Buoyed by Mia's support, Landon's confidence returned. "Norah, you know my temper. If you ever spy on me again—" I cut him off, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. 2 "Don't worry," I said. "There won't be a next time." I had already decided to divorce him. Of course there wouldn't be a next time. "Come to the station at ten tomorrow. I'll take you to see the director about coming back to work." It was a reward for my obedience. I knew that. But since I needed to speak with the director anyway, I agreed. The next morning, my mother-in-law picked up Leo. I arrived at the TV station at nine-thirty. Without a key card, I had to wait for Landon to return from his field assignment to let me in. I called him several times. He didn't answer. A self-deprecating smile touched my lips. He used to answer my calls on the first ring. I couldn't pinpoint when that had changed, when he started letting it ring, or worse, just declining the call. Did he think a stay-at-home mom could have nothing important to say? Or was his mind simply too full of Mia to have room for me? I stood outside for an hour before Landon and Mia finally appeared, laughing together. His blue tie and her matching blue bow were a silent, intimate secret between them. I turned my head and saw my reflection in the glass wall—my body still soft and shapeless from pregnancy, my face pale and drawn. I instinctively shrank back. In the blink of an eye, they swept past me and into the building. Trapped outside, I called Landon again. He glanced at his phone and immediately hit decline. "Who was that?" Mia asked. Landon gently brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. "Spam call," he said with a smile. I stood in the biting wind for a long time before a colleague I knew took pity on me and let me in. When I finally met with the station director, he told me that the charity program for women and children I had launched before my maternity leave had been taken over by Mia. The audience, he said, now associated the show with her. He then tactfully suggested I work on my "personal image" before he could assign me any new projects. I smiled, but my nails were digging so deeply into my palms that it was a miracle I didn't draw blood. I walked, dazed, towards the recording studio. Landon and Mia had just finished a segment on a domestic abuse case. Mia's voice was thick with emotion, her eyes red-rimmed. Even the crew in the control room looked moved. Landon gazed at her profile, his expression a mixture of adoration and tenderness. But when he turned and saw me, his brow furrowed in annoyance. "What are you doing here?" Before I could answer, Mia clicked over in her high heels. "Norah," she said with a saccharine smile, "long time no see. My, you've aged." Landon came to her side, and she linked her arm through his naturally. She looked me up and down with disdain. "A woman really needs to take care of herself. You don't want to become an eyesore." She added, "The viewers all say they hope I host your old show permanently. I'm much easier on the eyes." My gaze fell on her designer dress and the expensive brooch pinned to it. A sharp, familiar pain pricked my heart. I had seen both items in Landon's online shopping cart. He had picked them out himself. As I stood there, lost in a daze, Mia pulled a bottle of anti-wrinkle serum from her purse. "Landon always says an elegant neck is the true sign of a woman's vitality. Look at yours, it's covered in lines." She held it out to me. "Here, you can have this. Landon bought me so many. Consider it a thank you for letting me have your show." I was about to refuse when Landon snatched the bottle and stuffed it back into her bag. "She doesn't use that stuff. You keep it." I touched my own dry, neglected skin, my heart filled with a bitter ache. I was once a celebrated journalist, vibrant and passionate about fashion. But Landon had complained that my manicures scratched him, that my perfume gave him a headache. In his eyes, only the dazzling Mia was worthy of such beauty. I was just the woman trapped at home, nursing a baby and running a household. Mia smiled triumphantly, then gasped with delight. "Oh, Landon, you bought rosewater macarons! You got these for me once when we were on assignment in Charleston. I've never forgotten." She shot me a playful look. "Such a shame Norah's allergic to roses. She can't enjoy them." Landon's smile was soft and indulgent. "As long as you like them." Only then did he seem to remember I was there. He narrowed his eyes at me, a flicker of confusion in them. It was strange. Normally, I would have been seething with jealousy. Today, I was silent. He cleared his throat. "Norah, I ordered that lobster bisque you love. It's on its way. That should make you happy, right?" 3 A sardonic smile twisted my lips. "No, thank you. I've already eaten." You've forgotten, haven't you, Landon? You've forgotten crying your eyes out in the hospital waiting room while I was in the ER, fighting for my life after an anaphylactic reaction to shellfish. His face hardened at my rejection. "Give you an inch and you want a mile, don't you? Stay-at-home moms are always so dramatic. Mia and I have actual work to do. We don't have time for your theatrics!" He turned his back on me and went to Mia. She shot me a smug, victorious glance. My colleagues tactfully looked away, sparing me the humiliation. They all remembered. They knew I had sacrificed my career for my family, handing my show—Landon and Mia's show—to them on a silver platter. I forced myself to walk out of the station, my head held high. I called my lawyer and told him to draw up two copies of the divorce papers. When I got home, Landon's messaging app was still open on the tablet. Out of trust, I had never checked his phone. But now, remembering my lawyer's advice, I hit the screen record button and started scrolling. [Six months ago] ChasingTheSun: It's not that I don't love you. I just can't handle having a baby. The career break, the weight gain… Waiting: You don't have to say another word. I understand. You're a bird meant to fly free, not be caged in a nursery. Waiting: As soon as she goes on maternity leave, the prime-time slot is ours. ChasingTheSun: Hehe, love you. [Two days ago] ChasingTheSun: When are you going to ask her for a divorce? Waiting: Soon. Be patient. ChasingTheSun: How can I be patient?! You promised you'd leave her as soon as you secretly gave her the lactation suppressants and her milk dried up! But you're still dragging your feet! The baby's going to start recognizing her soon. How am I supposed to take over then? There was a 60-second voice note from "Waiting" after that. I didn't listen. I closed the tablet, ran to the bathroom, and retched until I was dizzy and breathless. I thought my heart was too numb to feel any more pain, but tears streamed down my face, hot and unstoppable. I finally understood why Landon's screen name was "Waiting." He was waiting to divorce me. Waiting to marry Mia. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a giant, merciless fist. It was never that I wasn't fit to be a mother. It was that Landon needed a scapegoat for his own infidelity. As I sobbed, my mother-in-law called, her voice frantic. Leo had a fever. There was no time for grief. I threw on a coat and rushed to get my son to the hospital. By the time I arrived, Leo was listless, his little body burning up. But there were no beds available in the emergency room. I pushed my way through the doors and saw why. Mia was there, staging a photoshoot where she "comforted" sick children from a local orphanage. She was using every single bed in the ER. I begged her for help, but she just sneered at me. "This is for Landon's show! It's being broadcast to a hundred thousand people. Do you really think we're going to give up a bed for your one kid? Have you lost all your professional integrity as a journalist?" Seeing my son's flushed, feverish face, I dropped to my knees and begged the doctor to help him. The doctor, caught on camera, looked uncomfortable. Mia, furious, stalked out of the camera's frame. Once the ER door was closed, she stepped forward and ground her high heel into the back of my hand. "Ah!" A blinding, searing pain shot up my arm, and I cried out. "Useless bitch!" she hissed. "You couldn't compete with me for the show, you couldn't compete with me for the man, and now you're using this little bastard to get sympathy?" She drew back her foot and kicked—not at me, but at the six-month-old infant in my arms. I screamed, instinctively curling my body around my son, shielding him with everything I had. Her heel struck my chest with a sickening thud. The door burst open. "Norah? What are you doing on the floor with Leo?" Landon's incredulous voice filled the hallway, startling Mia. Her eyes darted around, and then she burst into tears. "Landon, I'm so sorry! I was filming the charity segment with the orphans, and Norah just barged in with the baby, trying to disrupt everything." She sobbed, "I know this is your show, so I tried not to make a scene, but then she put the baby on the cold, dirty floor! You know how I am, I just can't bear to see a child suffer…" Landon's face grew darker and darker, the suspicion in his eyes igniting into full-blown rage. "Norah! What kind of mother are you? You don't put a six-month-old baby on the floor!" I was gasping for air, the pain in my chest making it impossible to speak. All I could do was tremble and hold my son up to him.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "393327", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel