The day I left the Northwood estate, Paul was leaning against the doorframe. He watched me pack, a smirk playing on his lips. “What’s this?” he drawled. “Finally realized that even having my child wasn’t enough to make me marry you? Decided he’s useless now, so you’re not even going to take him with you?” Before I could answer, Leo, who had been eavesdropping just outside the door, crept into the room. He carefully tipped his piggy bank upside down, pouring a handful of coins and crumpled bills into my palm. “Mommy, you have to take care of yourself, okay?” he said, his small voice earnest. “And… and can you please promise you’ll never, ever come back?” He looked up at me, his dark, round eyes brimming with an almost unbearable hope. “Auntie Claire said she’ll only be my new mommy if you leave for good.” 1 After he said it, he just blinked at me, the anticipation practically vibrating off him. Paul’s voice dropped, a low warning. “Leo.” “Is that what they teach you at school? How to speak to your mother?” Leo’s head drooped, his lower lip jutting out in a pout. “But last time, when Auntie Claire asked if you liked Mommy, you said no, Daddy. So… so I don’t really like her that much either… If she wants to go, just let her go…” His words no longer had the power to wound me. Not anymore. A week ago, on his sixth birthday, he’d thrown a tantrum, insisting he wanted to celebrate with Paul and Claire. In that moment, something inside me shifted. The desperate, grasping fear I’d lived with for so long simply vanished. I had no desire to stop him. Later that evening, I walked past the restaurant. Through the window, I heard him proudly telling the violinist that Claire was his mother. My heart remained perfectly still, a calm, flat sea. 2 I was kneeling on the floor, packing, so my eyes were level with his. I closed my hand around the money he’d given me and gave a small, firm nod. “Alright,” I said, my voice quiet. I didn't call myself ‘Mommy.’ “I promise you.” “I will never come back to this house. And I’m not your mother anymore. You’re free, Leo.” He seemed stunned that I’d agreed so easily. He stared at me for a beat, his expression blank. Then, his face split into a wide grin. “Yay! Auntie Claire is going to be my mommy!” He bolted from the room, shouting that he was going to call Claire and tell her the good news. I packed the last of my clothes, zipped the suitcase shut, and stood up. Paul had been silent this whole time, but as I moved to pass him, his hand shot out, clamping around my arm. His eyes were half-lidded, his expression unreadable. “Jennie, not liking you doesn’t mean I hate you.” His voice was low, threaded with a faint, rising irritation. “I’ve gotten used to you over the years. What’s all this drama about? Do you really have to leave?” I wanted to say something, but it all felt pointless and melodramatic. Instead, I just pulled my arm free. “Take care of Leo,” I said. I dragged my suitcase out of the house. It was a long walk from the mansion to the main gate of the private community. The weather mirrored my mood—a bitter wind whipped fallen leaves from the pavement, slapping them against my legs. It would have been easy to look pathetic, to feel small and defeated. But I never once looked back. 3 I had already rented a small apartment and found a job. Drawing on my old degree, I’d been hired as an instructor for a children’s art program. On my first day, I walked into the staff office to find a few of my new colleagues huddled around a little girl. “Rosie, darling, does your uncle like sweets?” “Oh, and what’s his type? What kind of girls does he like?” “Rosie, sweetie, is he picking you up tonight?” The little girl’s face was a mask of stoicism. “You said you wanted to talk to me about my artistic style.” The teachers exchanged awkward glances. “If there’s nothing else, I’m going back to the classroom,” she announced. She turned, saw me, and gave a polite, "Hello, Miss," before walking out, her gaze fixed straight ahead. 4 My new colleagues were friendly enough. After showing me the ropes, they started gossiping about the girl. “You probably don’t know, but her uncle is Dennis Harris.” “He and Paul Northwood are basically tied for the title of Northwood’s most eligible bachelor. Well, they were. I heard Paul’s back with his first love, Claire Somerset, now that she’s returned from overseas.” “So, I guess that just leaves Dennis.” Hearing Paul’s name again, I felt nothing, as if they were talking about a stranger. But Dennis Harris… I sighed silently. He was Paul’s biggest rival. And he’d never made a secret of his contempt for me. Every time we’d crossed paths, he’d hit me with some kind of insult. “Pathetic. A picture of Paul and Claire kissing is trending online, and you don’t even make a peep.” “What do you even get from being with him? A ring? A title?” “For God’s sake, Jennie, have you ever considered looking at someone else?” I decided it was best to keep my distance from the girl named Rosie. If Dennis found out I was working here, he’d probably pull strings to have me fired. 5 Paul called while I was on the subway home, packed shoulder-to-shoulder with the evening rush. “Hello?” The noise on my end was deafening. He paused before speaking. “Where are you?” “On the subway.” A dry, almost inaudible chuckle came through the line. “The subway? Jennie, you’re really reaping what you sow.” I gripped the handrail. “Did you need something?” I could hear his footsteps, the sound slow and deliberate even through the static, just like the man himself. I could picture him perfectly: rising from his massive desk, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office. “Leo has a fever,” he said. “Give me your address. I’ll come get you.” “No, thank you,” I said, my eyes dropping to the floor. “The staff at the house will take care of him. He doesn’t need me.” Paul’s voice hardened. “Are you serious about abandoning him? Jennie,” he said, his tone laced with disbelief, “is this all because he said he likes Claire more?” Paul never understood my feelings for Leo. Even after I told him, countless times, that I had taken emergency contraception after that night, he refused to believe me. Because I had been in love with him for years, he was convinced I had gotten pregnant on purpose to trap him in a marriage. In his eyes, my love for Leo was never real. He was just a tool. A pawn. He had no idea about the countless nights I’d spent spiraling, consumed by the fear that Leo was slipping away from me, that his affection for Claire was growing stronger every day. The train pulled into a major hub, and the car emptied out. “It’s not that, Paul,” I said, finally finding a seat, the ache in my legs easing. My voice was soft. “It’s because he really does like her more. And I’m done trying to force it. I’m done twisting myself into knots trying to win his affection.” He was about to say something else, but then a small voice from his end confirmed everything I’d just said. “Daddy! My fever’s gone!” Leo chirped. “Does that mean I can go play with Auntie Claire tomorrow?!” I heard Paul swallow hard. “Jennie, listen to me—” I ended the call. I got off at the next stop, determined to scrub the entire conversation from my mind. 6 Hearing his mother’s name, Leo paused. He stopped pestering his father about Claire and tugged on Paul’s trousers instead. “Daddy, was that Mommy on the phone?” Paul gave a slight nod. “Oh. Did you tell her I was sick? Is she coming home to see me?” Paul looked into his son’s bright, round eyes and, after a moment’s hesitation, murmured, “Yes.” Leo had known it all along. He knew Jennie would worry and come rushing back. “I’ll go put on a mask so I don’t get Mommy sick,” he said, already turning. “I can play with Auntie Claire some other time.” A week had passed. The idea of seeing his mother didn’t feel so bad anymore. Paul’s lips thinned. “Mommy’s working late,” he said. “I told her not to come back.” Leo, a fever patch still stuck to his forehead, just blinked. “Oh. Well, I guess we can go see Auntie Claire then…” He didn’t seem particularly disappointed. Mommy would definitely come back to see him. She always got the most anxious whenever he was sick. Still, it was a little strange. In the past, even if she was in another country, she would have been on the first flight home the moment she heard he was sick. 7 After a week, I’d settled into the new job. Dennis Harris had yet to make an appearance, but just in case, I always made a point of hiding in the office grading artwork whenever parents came to pick up their children. I only slipped up once, the day Rosie was out sick and I had to help a colleague escort the students out. I always tried to treat every child the same. But somehow, she had noticed. 8 That day, Rosie was in a visibly low mood. During the break, I saw her in the hallway, her chin propped in her hands as she stared out the window. A few boys, chasing each other, accidentally knocked her over. They didn’t even stop to apologize. I rushed over and knelt in front of her. “Rosie, are you okay? Did you get hurt? Let me see.” She clutched her knee, turning her head away. “Don’t bother. I’ll ask another teacher for a band-aid.” I paused, then said gently, “Miss Jennie has some too.” “I don’t want yours.” The back of her head was perfectly round, radiating a stubborn defiance. “I know you don’t like me. You don’t have to pretend.” I was taken aback. “I don’t dislike you at all, Rosie. You’re polite, well-behaved, and you’re a very talented artist. Why would I dislike you?” Rosie shot a quick glance at me before turning away again, huffing under her breath. “The other day, Miss Lewis asked you to walk me out, but when you heard it was me, you said no. And a few days ago, at lunch, I didn’t want to eat with the other teachers, so I brought my bowl over to your table, but you just scarfed down your food and ran away.” As she recounted the scene, she seemed to get angry all over again, her cheeks puffing out. She turned back to glare at me. “No one has ever disliked me this much! If you don’t like me, then I don’t like you either!” I felt a flush of embarrassment. I thought I’d been so subtle in the cafeteria that day. Rosie had sat down across from me with her bowl, muttering, “They’re too loud. All they do is ask about my uncle.” I had shifted my tray to make room for her, but less than a minute later, her smartwatch phone rang. It was Dennis. I’d panicked, shoveled the rest of my food into my mouth, and fled. There was no way to explain it. I could only look at her earnestly and say, enunciating each word, “Then I was wrong. From now on, I’ll wait for you at lunch, and… and I’ll walk you out after class. But I promise, I really don’t dislike you, Rosie.” She turned her face halfway towards me. Her profile was chubby and cute, a bit like a cartoon character. “Really?” she asked, her tone fit for a princess. “Really,” I promised. She held out her arms to me, her expression still stern. “Then you have to carry me. My leg hurts.” The scrape on her knee was now visible. I lifted her into my arms and carried her to the office to clean and bandage the wound. After that, we went back to the classroom, where I made the boys who had knocked her down apologize. As she looked up at me, a tiny smile played on her lips. It was a signal: we had a truce. 9 During my lunch break, I reviewed Rosie’s file again. My eyes froze on her date of birth. Today… was her birthday. That probably explained her mood. I remembered the little bunny pattern on her pencil case and the rabbit keychain on her backpack. Before class ended, I furiously knitted a miniature lop-eared rabbit doll, complete with a tiny dress that matched the one Rosie was wearing. She finished her in-class assignment ten minutes before everyone else. I called her out into the hallway and presented her with the gift. “Happy birthday, Rosie.” She stared at it for a second. “Is this bunny supposed to be me?” I smiled and nodded. “Just as cute as you are.” “Thank you, Miss Jennie. I love it.” She accepted it with a practiced poise, her face not betraying much emotion. “You’re welcome. You can go back inside now.” She took two steps, then turned back. “Kneel down,” she instructed, beckoning me with a little finger. I did as she asked. “What is it? Is there something else you wanted to tell me?” The next second, her soft lips pressed against my cheek. “This is the first birthday present I got today,” she whispered, her eyes shining. “And it’s my favorite.” She snuggled against me. “Miss Jennie, do you think my uncle is handsome? I can give you his number. As a thank you for the bunny!” The warmth blooming in my chest instantly turned to ice. “…No, thank you.” 10 When I learned that Dennis wouldn’t be the one picking her up tonight, I agreed to walk Rosie out. But as we reached the entrance, my heart stopped. Leaning against a black Maybach was Dennis Harris himself. “Uncle! Why are you here to get me today?” Rosie chirped. His gaze slid slowly from my face to his niece. “To take you out for your birthday, you little rascal.” “Yay!” she cheered, bouncing on her toes. I forced myself to speak. “Mr. Harris, hello, I—” “Well, this is a surprise,” he cut me off, a lazy smile on his face. “I didn't think Paul Northwood would let his woman work a job like this.” To prevent any future misunderstandings should he run into Paul, I clarified immediately. “I’ve left the Northwood estate. This job has nothing to do with Mr. Northwood.” Dennis’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Because of Claire Somerset? Did they do something to you?” I didn’t want to get into it with him. I pretended not to hear. “If you don’t have any questions about Rosie, I’ll be heading back to the office.” Rosie gave me an innocent little wave. “Bye, Miss Jennie.” I waved back. “Bye, Rosie.” As I turned to leave, I could feel his stare burning into my back. 11 Twenty minutes later, my shift was over. As I left the building, I saw the Maybach was still parked out front. The window was down. Dennis was leaning against the steering wheel, his head turned towards me. “The little one is throwing a fit. Insists she wants you to celebrate her birthday with her.” I glanced into the back seat at Rosie. She let out a small, confused “Huh?” and tilted her head. “But Uncle, didn't you say—” Dennis cut her off with a sharp tsk. “Can’t park here. Get in, we’ll talk in the car.” Fearing my hesitation would get him a ticket, I quickly got in. It was only after I saw the smirk on his face in the rearview mirror that I realized my mistake. The car had been parked there for a long time. If he was going to get a ticket, it would’ve happened by now. 12 I was trying to find the right moment to ask him to just drop me off at the next corner, but then Rosie wrapped her arm around mine and snuggled close. “It’s not just me and Uncle for my birthday this year,” she sighed happily. The words caught in my throat. I couldn’t say it. Throughout the entire dinner, Rosie was all smiles, a complete turnaround from her morning mood. All the excitement must have worn her out, because on the way home, she fell asleep leaning against me. The man’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Her parents are always working at their company overseas,” he said, his voice low. “They don’t have much of a relationship with her. They’re not willing to waste the time to come back and see her. They didn’t even remember it was her birthday.” For a rare moment, Dennis’s usual cocky demeanor was gone. “Jennie, thank you. For the gift, and for spending her birthday with her.” The little girl was fast asleep, letting out tiny, soft snores. I reached out and gently brushed her cheek. “I adore Rosie,” I said softly. “I had a wonderful time with her.” The car moved smoothly through the city streets. The rest of the ride was quiet, the only sound the gentle hum of the tires on the asphalt. I stared out the window, watching the neon lights blur past. Life felt so bizarrely theatrical. I had poured all my love into Leo for six years, and he wouldn’t even let me be there for one of his birthdays. Yet this little girl, whom I’d known for only a month, clutched the gift I’d made her and called it her favorite. The car slowed, pulling me from my thoughts. Dennis had stopped in front of my apartment building. I gently shifted Rosie off my shoulder and said my goodbyes as I got out. But Dennis got out too, calling my name from behind me. “Jennie.” I turned. “Is there something else?” His dark eyes were deep, reflecting nothing. “Stop loving Paul Northwood,” he said, his voice flat. “He’s not good to you.” I just stood there, stunned. I never expected him to say something like that. By the time I snapped out of it, his car was already pulling away, its taillights shrinking in the distance. And it dawned on me, a beat too late… Dennis Harris didn’t hate me anymore. 13 After that, Dennis started picking Rosie up almost every day. When the other teachers noticed, they practically fought over the chance to be the one to escort the students out. So, I stayed in the office, grading artwork. One evening after work, the familiar Maybach was parked out front again. I glanced inside. Rosie wasn't there. He must have dropped her off and come back. He got out, slamming the car door, and stared at me, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Do you hate me that much? You can’t even stand the sight of me?” I wasn’t sure, but it almost looked like the nearly six-foot-two man standing in front of me was… pouting? I let out a slow, confused, “Huh?” “You’ve been avoiding coming out these past few days because I’m the one picking up Rosie, haven’t you?” I shook my head and explained. “It just hasn’t been my turn to escort the students out.” Dennis scoffed, as if to say, Yeah, right. But then his expression shifted to a cool mask. “I’ve been waiting for you for so long, I haven’t eaten. I’m starving.” I stared at him, bewildered. “Why were you waiting for me?” “None of your business,” he snapped, suddenly defensive. “I felt like it.” His sheer, unapologetic confidence somehow made me feel like I was the one at fault. I hesitated, then asked, “Well… do you want me to buy you dinner?” In one fluid motion, Dennis turned and opened the passenger door for me. “Get in. Our reservation is in half an hour. We’ll be right on time.” Me: “?” 14 The car pulled up in front of the restaurant. I was just about to open my door when I saw Leo. On either side of him were Paul and Claire. Leo was talking to another little girl his age. “Leo, is that your mommy?” the girl asked. “Wow, she’s pretty, like a movie star!” Leo’s lips trembled, as if he wasn’t sure what to say. The girl tilted her head, confused. “But… I remember another time, a kind of plain-looking lady came to pick you up from school. Which one is your real mom?” So that was why Leo never wanted me to pick him up. At the estate, I rarely went out and paid little attention to my clothes. I usually wore simple, comfortable things. The one time our driver had been off and I’d picked him up myself, he had sulked for days. Hearing the girl’s question, Leo suddenly reached out and grabbed Claire’s hand. “Of course… of course this is my mommy. The other one was… our nanny.”
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