1 Life with Joey Buckingham was a struggle. Our pantry stayed empty, so Blake and I worked weekends as street clowns. I earned 100/day;hemade50, but beamed, "One more weekend, and we’ll buy Dad that suit!" Then I saw Joey—in a custom suit, shopping lavishly with his first love. A salesman locked the boutique, bragging, "Six-figure commission today!" I clutched our $75 earnings as Blake gasped, "That rich man looks like Dad!" The manager sneered, "That’s the Mr. Buckingham. You think billionaires have clown relatives?" Heart shredded, I dragged Blake past a restaurant. Glancing at the menu and our $75, I gritted my teeth and walked in. A waiter greeted us with a professional, plastic smile. “Ma’am, this is a fine dining establishment. The fast-food places are to your right, just outside.” I swallowed the anger rising in my throat and pointed to the cheapest option on the menu, the $888 prix fixe tasting menu. “We’ll have one of these.” This was the money Blake and I had worked weeks to save. The money for Joey’s suit. The waiter just waved a dismissive hand, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’m sorry, but Chairman Buckingham has booked the entire restaurant for a private event tonight. Perhaps you could try somewhere else?” I followed his gaze and saw it. In the main hall, a ridiculously long, French-style table was laden with dishes I couldn’t even name. A team of six model-esque servers catered to their every need. Even the little boy, who looked about Blake’s age, was confidently directing the staff, telling them what to do. “Is that… Dad?” Blake’s voice was barely a whisper. I grabbed him and fled, running as if our lives depended on it, not stopping until we were back in our cramped apartment. My eyes fell on the sewing machine in the corner, where a pair of shorts I’d made for Blake from a pair of his old pants—pants he’d already worn for three years—lay waiting. The tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. The truth is, I always knew I was just his backup plan. Years ago, when his first love, Vivian, left him for some handsome French artist and moved abroad, he fell apart. One night, he showed up at my small apartment, blind drunk. He crossed a line, and in his drunken haze, he took what he wanted, ignoring my protests. Soon after, I found out I was pregnant with Blake. After we married, he never bothered to find a job, content to let me work three of my own to barely keep us afloat. But I never imagined it was all an act. A lie. Blake padded over to me, holding a small towel, and gently wiped my tears. “It’s okay, Mom. I don’t really like fancy food anyway. My favorite food is the stuff you make.” I pulled him into my arms and held him tight, my sobs growing stronger. This couldn't go on. I couldn't do this anymore. Wiping my eyes, I sat down and began to write, drafting a document word by painstaking word. Just as I finished the last sentence, Joey stumbled home, reeking of alcohol. Like always, Blake ran to greet him, holding out his slippers with a cheerful smile. But Joey’s face was a cold mask of displeasure. “Why weren’t you out working tonight?” Blake froze. “Do we… do we still have to go out and work?” He had seen it all today. I hadn’t said it out loud, but he knew. He knew the man in the fancy store, the man buying all those bags and perfumes Mom was too scared to even touch, was his father. A man so rich he could eat at a table filled with food so expensive Blake couldn't even count that high. Did Mom really need to keep working a third job? She was already so, so tired. Joey’s temper flared. “If you don’t work, what are you going to do? Sit at home and freeload until you die?” Blake burst into tears, terrified. That only made Joey angrier. He grabbed Blake by the ear and kicked him, sending him sprawling across the floor. Something inside me shattered. I flew at him, grabbing the first thing I could find—a dinner plate—and hurled it at his chest. It wasn’t enough. I seized the old-fashioned kettle, full of scalding water, and threw it at his feet. Hot water soaked his trousers, but he didn’t flinch. He just stared at me, his voice dangerously low. “Jenica, have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea how much these things cost?” His words were the final match on the gasoline. “Lost my mind? Yes, I’ve lost my mind! Joey, after all these years of marriage, what have you ever given us? What did Blake do to deserve this? Why would you scream at him? Why would you hit him?” My voice cracked with years of suppressed pain. “For his birthday, all he wanted was a piece of cake! He begged you for a whole month, and you finally agreed, but only if he washed your feet every night for that month! And he did it! But what happened on his birthday? You came home empty-handed! Joey, when you saw the disappointment in your own son’s eyes, didn’t your heart break, even a little?” A flicker of guilt crossed his face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by that familiar, weary annoyance. “It was just a cake. What’s the big deal? I’ll buy him one tomorrow.” “Tomorrow?” I laughed, a bitter, broken sound. “Joey, how many tomorrows have you promised us? Does your tomorrow ever actually come?” “Jenica, can you not dredge up the past every time we have a fight?” he snapped, before turning and slamming the bedroom door behind him. I stared at the closed door, my hands trembling with rage at his indifference. This was the first time we had ever fought like this. And it would be the last. I went to Blake and gently helped him up. His face was streaked with tears. “Mommy,” he whispered, his small body trembling, “are you and Daddy going to get a divorce? If you do… does that mean I’ll be an orphan?” He handed me a piece of paper. It was the divorce agreement I had just drafted. I fought back a fresh wave of tears, pressing a long, deep kiss to his forehead before pulling him into a hug. “Mommy will never, ever leave you, Blake.” The truth was, I once had a promising career ahead of me. But the contract I signed at my first real job had a clause: no pregnancies within the first three years. Joey’s drunken mistake cost me that job. After that, pregnant and desperate, I couldn’t find any decent work. I took odd jobs, telling myself I’d find something better after the baby was born. But with a newborn to care for around the clock, it only got harder. My only saving grace came from the hospital director where Blake was born. He saw our struggle and offered me a job as a cleaner at the hospital. It was a steady day shift, Monday to Friday, which meant I could still breastfeed and care for Blake. The pay was low, but it was reliable, so I’d kept the job ever since. The day after my explosive fight with Joey, I dropped Blake at school and went to work as usual. Around noon, I was cleaning a hallway when I saw a familiar figure hurry past. It was Joey. This was the obstetrics and gynecology wing. What was he doing here? Out of a morbid curiosity, I followed him. I watched as he paid a bill at an automated kiosk and then walked straight into an ultrasound room. A few minutes later, he emerged, tenderly supporting his first love, Vivian. She was leaning against him, his hand placed gently on the small of her back. “You have to be more careful in the first trimester,” Joey chided softly. “How did you manage to throw out your back?” “It’s all your fault,” Vivian pouted, playfully swatting his shoulder. “You bought me so many bags and perfumes to celebrate the pregnancy. I had to put them all away, and I just… twisted wrong.” She looked up, and her eyes met mine across the hall. A flicker of recognition, then a sly smile spread across her face as she leaned in and whispered in Joey’s ear. 2 “But don’t you worry,” she said, her voice just loud enough for me to hear. “The doctor said the baby is strong, just like its father.” She knew exactly who I was. Suddenly, I felt the sharp, humiliating sting of being caught snooping. I spun around in a panic, forgetting I was standing in front of a solid wall. My body slammed into it, hard. A starburst of pain exploded in my head, and I couldn't help but let out a small cry. Joey heard the sound and turned. His eyes widened in shock when he saw me, and he started to walk in my direction. But then Vivian cried out, “Oh! Ouch!” and clutched her stomach, sinking to the floor. Joey hesitated for only a second before turning back to her. He scooped her up in his arms and rushed back into the clinic. I stood there, fighting to keep the tears from falling, but the pain in my heart was a physical, crushing weight. The gash on my head from the wall was deep. When the nurse cleaned it, it stung so badly that the tears finally came, and once they started, I couldn't stop them. Seeing my state, the kind hospital director let me go home early. I pulled myself together and walked to the bakery. Earlier that morning, I had ordered a cake for Blake. I knew Joey would never remember his promise. I would make up for his failure this one last time, and then I would never expect anything from him again. But when I got there, the baker told me they were sold out of that particular cake. My eyes widened in disbelief. “But I ordered one this morning. How can it be gone?” The owner squinted at me. “Did you pay a deposit?” I shook my head. “No.” “Well, there you have it,” he said, his voice rising as if he’d won a great victory. “Without a deposit, it’s not an order, is it?” I opened my mouth to argue, but no words came out. A young clerk leaned over and whispered, “A man came in a few minutes ago and bought it for ten times the price.” I followed her gaze out the window. It was Joey. He was carrying the cake, my son's cake, and walking toward the parking lot. A small, foolish flicker of relief went through me. At least he remembered his promise to Blake. I decided not to argue with the baker and got on my old e-scooter to pick up Blake, ready to share the good news. But as I rounded the street corner, I saw the truth. It wasn't what I thought at all. Joey was giving the cake to Vivian’s son, Daniel. And the boy, after taking it, immediately opened the box, placed the entire cake on the sidewalk, and started feeding it to a stray dog. Vivian stood by, recording the whole thing with her phone, while Joey praised him. “Daniel, you have such a big heart! You’re going to be such a compassionate man when you grow up.” A white-hot rage erupted inside me. I stormed over to them. “Joey! Have you lost your damn mind?” I screamed. “Your son begs you for a birthday cake you never buy, and when I finally order one for him, you steal it just to feed it to a dog?” He looked at me, a flash of surprise in his eyes, before it was replaced by his usual condescending glare. “It’s just a cake, Jenica. Stop making a scene in public. It’s embarrassing.” He had the nerve to talk about being embarrassed? Blake was his own flesh and blood, and in his eyes, he was worth less than a stray dog. Who was the real embarrassment here? Vivian stepped in, playing the peacemaker. “Oh, dear, we had no idea this cake was for you. Daniel saw the poor stray and just wanted to feed it. He’s always had such a kind heart.” She picked up the half-eaten, dirt-smeared cake from the ground. “The dog barely had any before you scared it off. Here, you can still take it.” She tried to shove the filthy cake into my hands. I was about to slap it away in disgust when Daniel snatched it from her. He threw it hard onto the pavement. “Shameless! Fighting with a dog over its food! I’d rather throw it away than let you have it!” I was so furious I couldn’t speak. “Arguing with a child,” Joey muttered, shaking his head. “How pathetic.” Then he turned and walked away with Vivian and her son, leaving me standing there in the wreckage of my son’s stolen dream. I took a deep breath, went to another bakery, and bought a new cake.
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