The day our son was born, my husband, the judge, asked for separate beds. “I won’t divorce you,” he said. “Our son deserves a complete childhood. But don’t expect anything more.” From then on, his touch became a memory. Even if I fell in front of him, he wouldn’t steady me. For ten years, we were never seen kissing or holding hands. When rumors surfaced, he’d simply state, “Intimacy is private.” Online, he was praised as disciplined and respectful. Only I knew the hollow loneliness of a decade in an empty bed. Everything shattered when our son, Leo, was bullied at school—brain hemorrhage, broken rib, rushed to the ICU. But Judge Will Keery didn’t sue or demand a hearing. He hid behind impartiality, delaying again and again. Heartbroken, I rushed home and overheard him talking to a friend: “Will, if Clara finds out you’re stalling because the boy who hurt Leo is your old flame’s son, she’ll divorce you.” “She’ll never know.” That sentence was ice through my heart. It was never about justice. The scales in his heart had tipped long ago—and not in my favor 1 A summer heatwave was scorching the city, but a sudden chill ran down my spine. From the study, Will’s voice was unnervingly calm. “And even if she did find out,” he added, “she wouldn’t dare.” He was right. Ever since Leo was born, I’d lived like a widow, never once uttering the word ‘divorce.’ He saw my silence not as endurance, but as proof. Proof that I loved him too much to ever leave. His friend chuckled. “Man, I still can’t believe it, Will. It’s been how long since high school? And you’re still hung up on that little rebel, Zoe.” “Well, she was the only stain on your perfect student record, wasn’t she?” the friend continued, his voice thick with nostalgia. “I still remember when you two got caught fooling around in the teacher’s lounge. The principal called you out in front of the whole school, and she just looks at you and asks, ‘So, how’d my lipstick taste?’ God, that was classic!” The sound of his laughter echoed through the door, and the color drained from my face. Fooling around? That was a phrase I could never associate with Will, a man who seemed the very picture of judicial restraint, a paragon of virtue. The thought of him, the same man who would disinfect his hands with alcohol if our fingers accidentally brushed, sneaking around with another woman, their bodies pressed together in the hidden corners of a high school… A wave of revulsion, so potent it was almost physical, clawed its way up my throat. I bolted to the bathroom, retching over the toilet until only bitter bile came up. I hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept since the incident with Leo, my days a frantic blur between the police station and government offices. And Will? Leo’s own father? He had the time to sit here, reminiscing with a friend about his wild high school days. It was laughable. Utterly, painfully laughable. When I emerged from the bathroom, the friend was gone. Will was alone in his study. His eyes scanned my swollen eyelids and pale cheeks. He pursed his lips. “The existing evidence is inconclusive. The hearing has to be postponed. Getting worked up won’t change anything.” The same excuse. Always the same excuse. My hands clenched into fists, a cold dread seeping into my bones. If I hadn’t overheard them, I’d still be in the dark, still believing his lies. I took a step forward, pausing at the threshold of the study. “Will, what will it take for you to schedule the hearing?” He frowned, preparing another excuse. But before he could speak, I let out a soft, sharp laugh. “If you file the motion for a hearing… I’ll give you a divorce.” For a moment, he seemed stunned, as if the sudden joy of the offer had short-circuited his brain. Then, just as quickly, his expression darkened, his face hardening into a mask of cold fury. “Clara, if every family member of a law enforcement official used threats and emotional blackmail to serve their own interests, what would be left of justice in this world?” His voice was low, cutting. “Leo gets into trouble at school because he’s inherited your selfish, manipulative nature.” I froze, the words hitting me like a physical blow. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He was the one abusing his power to protect his ex-lover’s son. And now, he was blaming me? Blaming our child? I lunged forward to argue, to scream, but he was faster. With a sharp, definitive crack, he slammed the study door in my face. The sound echoed in the silent house, a final, brutal judgment. I stumbled downstairs in a daze. My phone rang. It was Leo's lawyer. Like the one before him, his voice was hesitant, full of apologies. “Mrs. Keery, I’m so sorry, but I can’t take your case. I suggest you find someone else…” My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles were white. A metallic taste filled my mouth. “Mr. Davies, did someone from… on high… have a word with you?” “Mrs. Keery, please don’t ask me any more questions.” He hung up quickly, but I didn’t need an explanation. In this city’s legal circles, there was only one person with enough influence to make a top lawyer from a prestigious firm back away from a case. Will. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I called Mr. Davies back. “Mr. Davies,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “You won’t take the criminal case, I understand. But surely you can handle a civil one?” “I’d like to hire you,” I continued, “to file my divorce papers.” 2 At the hospital, I went straight to Leo’s room. He was out of immediate danger, but he was still wrapped in thick bandages, his cheeks hollowed out. He looked as fragile as a piece of paper. When he saw me, his eyes lit up, but then he reflexively glanced behind me. His face fell. “Mommy, did Daddy not come again?” “Leo, sweetie, Daddy is… he’s still collecting evidence. He’s going to make sure the bad people get punished,” I choked out, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth as my own heart fractured. Just then, a sickly-sweet voice called from the doorway. “Leo’s mom.” I spun around. It was Zoe. She was holding a basket of bruised, overripe fruit and a bouquet of white chrysanthemums—the kind you bring to a funeral. Standing beside her, smirking, was the boy who had hurt my son, Cody. They swaggered into the room as if they owned it. “So glad I finally caught you,” Zoe said with a practiced smile. “Have you had a chance to think about the settlement I mentioned?” Her son shot Leo a middle finger, his expression dripping with arrogance. Leo flinched, his bright, innocent eyes instantly clouding with fear. I moved to stand between them, my voice a low growl. “Get out. Get out now!” Zoe feigned a placating tone. “Clara, let’s not get emotional. It was just a bit of roughhousing between kids. There’s no need to blow it all out of proportion.” My vision went red. “Roughhousing? My son had a broken rib and a brain hemorrhage! He was in the ICU! And you call that roughhousing?” Zoe’s smile faltered for a second. I sneered. “You want a settlement? Fine. Let your son have a broken rib, too…” Before I could finish, Zoe snatched her son into a protective embrace, glaring at me. The boy, feeling bold, puffed out his chest. “Mom, Judge Keery said we don’t have to be scared of her! He said he’d protect us!” Hearing Will’s name from that boy’s lips was the final straw. My control snapped. I lunged forward and slapped the smirk clean off his face. A piercing wail filled the room. “You hit my son! You’re dead!” Zoe shrieked, her facade crumbling into rage. She grabbed a fistful of my hair, her other hand slapping my face again and again. My body, weak from days of stress and sleepless nights, gave out. Stars exploded behind my eyes as I sank to my knees, taking the brutal, repeated blows. On the bed, Leo was screaming, sobbing hysterically. “Stop it! Don’t hit my mommy! Mommy!” The violent thrashing tore at his wounds, and fresh blood began to seep through his clean white bandages. By the time the police arrived, Zoe was perfectly fine, save for a few stray hairs. I was a wreck—my face bruised and swollen, my clothes torn, every breath a sharp, searing pain. At the station, I insisted on a medical examination. I wanted to press charges. But suddenly, the officers’ attitudes changed. They declared Zoe had acted in self-defense, protecting her child, and demanded that I apologize to them both. I shot to my feet, the handcuffs rattling against the metal table. But then I saw it—the officer, holding his phone, speaking with a reverence I knew all too well. My strength evaporated, and I collapsed back into the chair. Will. It was Will again. He couldn't bear to let his old flame suffer even the slightest inconvenience. A lump of cotton formed in my throat, choking me. I refused to apologize. They held me in a small, dark room for three days. Every second of those three days was an agonizing eternity. In the darkness, my mind drifted back ten years, to a drunken night that changed everything. I’d gotten pregnant by accident. Will had told me to have the child, promised he would marry me, that he’d take care of us. I thought my secret crush had blossomed into a real-life fairy tale. It was all just a beautiful lie. Three days later, I walked out of that station, disheveled and hollowed out. I went straight to the hospital. But the private, top-tier room where Leo had been was now occupied by an elderly woman I didn’t recognize. I found Leo in a crowded general ward. He threw himself into my arms, his body trembling with sobs. “Mommy, Daddy said I was bad at school, that I started the fight, and that’s why I got hurt. But I didn’t, Mommy! I was good…” His cries were like tiny, barbed hooks tearing at my heart. I swallowed the blood that had pooled in my mouth. After comforting him, I stormed out of the ward, my anger a burning inferno. As I passed the private room, a familiar silhouette stopped me cold.
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