After Genevieve’s 99th fight with her boy toy, she came to me in tears. “Kneel and apologize to him,” she said, smirking. “Our son triggered him.” I knew she meant it—last time I refused, she killed my dog and stopped my mother’s medical payments. I’d endured it all for our son. Until yesterday. She deliberately gave our son his deadliest allergen. Watching him go into shock in my arms, my heart turned to ash. As she berated me, I handed her divorce papers. “He’s bored of seeing me kneel,” I said softly. “Let’s try divorcing to please him.” She looked triumphant. “Finally learning to please me.” I smiled—not to please her, but to destroy her. For good. 1 “Don’t worry, as soon as Chase forgives me, we’ll get remarried,” Genevieve said as she signed the papers. She was so confident in my undying devotion that she didn’t even bother to read the agreement. But when the clerk handed us our official divorce certificates, she froze for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something unreadable on her face. She turned as if to say something to me, but at that moment, Chase swept her into his arms. “Genevieve, you actually divorced him for me! I love you so much,” he exclaimed, cupping her face and kissing her deeply. The courthouse employees exchanged awkward glances, their eyes settling on me with a shared look of pity. The poor bastard whose ex-wife was making out with her lover on the courthouse steps the very day of their divorce. I calmly averted my gaze and pushed open the doors. As I stepped outside, the sky erupted in a million-dollar fireworks display. Genevieve’s indulgent voice drifted from behind me. “I had them custom-made for you, Chase. When they burst, they’ll spell out your name.” I stood rooted to the spot. I had once dreamed of this for our own wedding. But back then, Genevieve’s company was just starting out, and money was tight. Not wanting to burden her, I had bought cheap, garish fireworks from a corner store myself. I remember smiling, perfectly content, as the low-budget sparks sputtered across the sky. Genevieve had teared up, hugging me tight and making a promise. “Liam, I swear I’ll make this up to you. One day, I’ll have them write your name across the sky.” We eventually made more money than we could ever spend. But that promise vanished, as if it had never been made. Watching the sky light up for another man, I finally understood. Her love hadn’t disappeared. It had just found a new place to bloom. “Daddy!” A cheerful shout pulled me from my reverie. My son, Leo, let go of his nanny’s hand and launched himself into my arms like an excited puppy. Today was his birthday. Genevieve and I had promised to take him to the amusement park together. I looked over at her, but the moment she saw our son, she froze. That same blank look. She’d forgotten. Again. I’d lost count of the times it had happened. Forgetting his birthday, missing his school plays. Each time, I would patiently explain to everyone, “Leo’s mom is just so busy. She’s away on a business trip.” Then I’d see her on some celebrity news channel, strolling through the streets of Paris with Chase. After six years of marriage, my face was numb from being metaphorically slapped. The pity in the eyes of our friends and family was a constant presence, but I’d taught myself not to care. But when other kids on the playground started pointing at my son, calling him a "bastard" with "no mom," and he would bury his face in my chest and sob uncontrollably—that’s when I could no longer lie to myself. Genevieve didn’t love our son. And she certainly didn't love me. 2 Still, for Leo's sake, I wanted to try one last time. But before I could speak, a boy about Leo’s age hopped out of Genevieve’s sports car. It was Aiden, Chase’s son from his previous marriage. Chase gave me an oily smile. “Sorry, Liam. Genevieve insisted we all come along. Hope we’re not intruding.” I stood there, frozen. With one casual sentence, he had shattered the day my son had been looking forward to for an entire year. Genevieve glanced at my pale face, then guiltily looked away. “They’re around the same age. They can play together.” Leo’s eyes were glued to the sight of his mother’s hand intertwined with Aiden’s. A look of pure confusion clouded his small face. My heart clenched, and the words I wanted to say died in my throat. Aiden was dressed in a bespoke miniature suit, his hair perfectly styled, standing proudly between Genevieve and Chase. He looked like the guest of honor. And then there was my son, in his simple jeans and t-shirt, standing awkwardly by my side. Suddenly, I’d had enough. I scooped Leo into my arms and turned to leave. “Liam, what’s your problem?” Chase called out, stepping in front of me. He feigned a look of hurt. “Are Aiden and I bothering you?” His fingernails dug sharply into my arm, hidden from view. The pain was sharp, and I instinctively yanked my arm away. It wasn’t a hard shove, but Chase crumpled to the ground dramatically. “Liam, why would you hit me?” he cried out, his face a mask of bewildered innocence. “All I wanted was for us to get along!” My arm throbbed. I was shaking with rage. Before I could utter a word, a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. Genevieve had slapped me. “What kind of father are you?” she shrieked. “Beating someone up in front of your own son!” It was a vicious blow. The sharp edge of a key on her ring sliced across my cheek, and a warm trickle of blood ran down my face. Leo immediately scrambled in front of me, stretching out his thin arms to protect me. “Don’t hit my daddy!” he sobbed. I barely felt the cut. All I could see was my son’s small, trembling back, and beyond him, the woman who was supposed to be his mother, shielding her lover and his child. Something inside me snapped. Genevieve could neglect me. She could stop loving me. But how could she, again and again, be so cruel to our child? I stumbled forward, wrapped my arms around Leo, and covered his tear-filled eyes. I turned to walk away, my resolve hardening into steel. As I moved, Genevieve, having finished checking on her precious Chase, turned and saw the blood streaming down my face. Her eyes widened. She rushed over, her voice laced with panic as she tried to press a handkerchief to the wound. “Oh god, you’re bleeding so much. Liam, I wouldn’t have… if you hadn’t pushed him, I never would have…” I looked at her, my vision blurry, a profound and desolate sadness washing over me. It didn’t matter what I said. In her eyes, Chase was always the victim, and I was always the aggressor. Because of him, I had lost my pet, my wife’s affection, and even… my ability to have more children. The first time I caught them, I had brought her a home-cooked meal at her office, only to find them naked and tangled together on her desk. I went insane. I lunged at him, but Genevieve threw herself between us. I shoved her aside, and in the ensuing chaos, Chase delivered a savage kick to my groin. That single blow left me sterile. Seeing the single tear that escaped my eye now, Genevieve faltered, a flash of genuine pain in her expression. She reached out to wipe it away, but just then, Chase let out a choked sob from behind her. “I’m so sorry,” he wailed. “This is all my fault. I never should have come between you two.” Then, he turned and sprinted directly into the busy street. Horns blared. Tires screeched. Without a moment’s hesitation, Genevieve let go of me and ran after him. My son and I shared a quiet, knowing look. We got in the car. As we drove past, I saw Chase, perfectly safe, holding Genevieve in a tight embrace. He met my eyes over her shoulder, the guilt on his face replaced by a cold, triumphant smirk. He was telling me he’d won. But I no longer cared about the game. 3 That night, Leo and I moved into another one of our properties. But around eleven, Genevieve showed up uninvited. The cold, silent look on my face as I opened the door clearly annoyed her. “We’re just divorced, Liam, I didn’t say you could move out,” she snapped, striding past me. “We’ll be remarried in a few days anyway. Why make such a fuss?” She plopped down on the sofa, admiring the decor. Her eyes landed on the family portrait on the wall, and she froze. The photo that once held three people now only held two. Her image had been neatly cut out. A surge of irritation rose in her. She turned to yell at me but then noticed the bandage on my head from where she’d hit me. A flicker of guilt crossed her face. She reached out to touch it, but I stepped back, avoiding her hand. Her hand hung awkwardly in the air, her expression unreadable. I didn’t offer her the usual comfort or care. I just pointed to a guest room. “You can sleep there. Or you can go back to your own place.” I turned and walked into my bedroom. But as I went to close the door, she slipped inside, pressing her warm body against mine. “Honey,” she whispered, her voice husky. “It’s been so long since you’ve touched me.” She was completely oblivious to my resistance, acting as if I were the same old Liam, always at her beck and call. But this time, I shoved her away. Hard. And then, I slapped her across the face. Stunned, she reeled back, her shock quickly turning to fury. But as she raised her hand to strike back, her eyes fell on my left hand. She grabbed it, her voice trembling. “Where’s your ring?” Our wedding bands were simple silver rings. We were poor when we got married, but we wore them with so much joy. After she made her fortune, she bought me countless expensive, designer rings, but I never wore them. She knew what this simple silver band meant to me. In ten years of marriage, through all the fights and betrayals, I had never taken it off. Now, it was gone. Genevieve’s heart began to pound. A terrifying, unfamiliar panic seized her. “Let’s go get our marriage license back tomorrow,” she said, her voice tight. I pulled my hand from her grasp. My mother was gone. I had full custody of our son. She had no leverage over me anymore. “Leave,” I said. She stood frozen, as if she couldn’t believe her ears. “What did you say?” I put more distance between us. “You heard me.” Silence hung in the air for a beat, and then her eyes darkened as the reality of the situation finally crashed down on her. Her voice shook. “This was all a trick, wasn't it? You used our divorce to force me to break up with Chase!” I almost laughed. Did she really think, even now, that this was about him? But my silence was all the confirmation she needed. “Fine,” she hissed, jabbing a finger at me. “Fine. Fine! I’ll be waiting for you to come crawling back, begging for my forgiveness!” She stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. The noise woke Leo, who wandered out of his room, rubbing his eyes. I scooped him up, held him close, and gently soothed him back to sleep. Looking at his peaceful face, a profound sense of contentment filled me. This was all that mattered now. The next morning, I woke up early for Leo’s parent-teacher conference. As we walked into the classroom, I saw them. Genevieve, Chase, and Aiden, sitting together. They looked like a perfect, happy family. In the seven years of Leo’s life, Genevieve had never once attended a school event. He’d been taunted for it, but he was always too considerate to tell me. But seeing it now, laid bare like this, was a truth he couldn't ignore. Tears welled in his eyes, and he turned and ran from the room. Genevieve looked guilty and started to get up, but Chase put a hand on her arm, stopping her. My heart hammered in my chest. I turned and ran after my son. As I rounded the corner, Chase and a couple of his buddies caught up to me. He slammed his fist into my face. “Have some dignity, Liam,” he sneered. “You’re divorced. Stop using your kid to emotionally blackmail Genevieve.” His friends chimed in. “Yeah, what a loser. Like father, like son. Faking tears for attention.” “Pathetic!” they howled with laughter.
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