At her son's birthday party, the host asked him his biggest wish. He grabbed the mic, face lit with anticipation. "I want Genevieve Sinclair to be my mom." The guests roared with laughter. Every glance aimed at me was barbed. Mocking. Hungry for a scene. Genevieve was Nathaniel Whitmore's assistant. This wasn't the first time my son had tried to replace me with her. I didn't want a public meltdown, so I let it slide. Then the party photos arrived. My face had been edited out. Genevieve's face was in my place. I asked around. My son had demanded it. And Nathaniel had allowed it. In that moment, I felt hollowed out. A bone-deep exhaustion that drowned every flicker of rage. That night, I told him I wanted a divorce. He sat in his study, in that leather chair, and didn't even lift his eyes. "Over a photo?" "Yes. Over a photo." *** "How many times is this, Catherine? Stop threatening divorce every time we hit a rough patch." Nathaniel pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked like a man dealing with an unreasonable subordinate, not his wife of eight years. "This time it's real. Nathaniel, let's end this." I held his gaze. His mouth twitched, dismissive. He looked back down at the papers on his desk. "I don't have time for this. The board meeting is this afternoon. My father will be there in person." Genevieve was waiting at the study door. She cradled Nathaniel's bespoke suit jacket in her arms like a sentry on duty. "Mrs. Whitmore, the chairman himself will be at this meeting. It wouldn't look good for Nathaniel to be late." Her eyes held a veiled reproach. Like I was the one being unreasonable. The anchor dragging my husband down. The fury ignited and burned through every rational thought I had left. "Did anyone ask you?!" "Catherine!" Nathaniel slammed his palm on the desk. The coffee cup jumped. Dark liquid splattered across his documents. Genevieve's eyes welled up instantly. Her voice quivered. "Nathaniel, it's fine. Please don't fight with your wife because of me." Right in the middle of this standoff, her phone rang. She answered it. "Accidentally" hit speaker. A thick Boston accent exploded into the room. "Gina, where's your man? Still not out the door?" "Don't tell me the wife's got him on lockdown again. Jesus." "Honestly, Nathaniel should just get the divorce and be with you openly. You two actually look right together." I knew that voice. Marcus. Nathaniel's best friend. He used to call me Cassie, sweet as pie, every time he saw me. "Marcus, stop it. We'll be right there." Genevieve fumbled to hang up. But the flush creeping up her ears was unstoppable. "Sorry, Mrs. Whitmore. Marcus just jokes around. Don't take it to heart." I ignored her. I pinned my eyes on Nathaniel. "So this is how your friends see me? In your social circle, I'm just a joke? Publicly. Openly." Nathaniel rubbed his temple, exasperated. "Catherine, can you please stop fixating on things like this?" "I can't control what other people say." He grabbed his papers and moved to walk past me. As he brushed by, a scent hit me. Cedar and juniper. Exactly like the fragrance clinging to Genevieve. A silent declaration. That scent snapped my last thread of sanity. I stepped in front of him and screamed. "Sign the divorce papers! Now!" Nathaniel's face went rigid. His knuckles were bone-white. "Over a retouched photo? Are you serious?" "I already told the photographer to rush the original negatives. We'll hang the real one back up. Okay?" "Owen wanted the picture changed because you're always busy. Gina's the one raising him most of the time. Is it a crime for a kid to want a photo with the person he's close to?" "Maybe you should reflect on that." Genevieve's eyes were brimming. She cut in at the perfect moment. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Whitmore. I've gotten too close to Owen. But Nathaniel has been preparing for this board meeting for two weeks. I'm begging you. Please don't do this to him right now." I looked at them. One playing the martyr, delicate and wronged. One seething with rage, hiding behind his moral high ground. And I was the only unreasonable person in this room. But they made me this way. Step by step. My marriage to Nathaniel was a business deal. My father was a founding partner at Kensington Capital, a private equity firm in Boston. The Whitmores needed to partner up for a prime commercial real estate acquisition in the Seaport District. The elders of both families sealed the deal in the boardroom. I was part of the package. The second year of our marriage, the SEC launched a surprise investigation into my father. Securities fraud. Conspiracy to commit money laundering. He never even got the chance for bail. Federal prosecutors took him straight into custody. His company's management was purged overnight. The man who took over was his lifelong enemy. The Whitmores panicked. Less than forty-eight hours after my father was taken away, they were already pushing Nathaniel to divorce me. It was my father who begged him. In the visiting room of the federal detention center. Begged him not to abandon me then. I only found out about that later. At the time, I thought Nathaniel stayed because he had feelings for me. Then I got pregnant. They made me sign a brutal marital property agreement. I waived any claim to the Whitmore family trust. I gave up my say in my child's education and inheritance rights. In exchange, my child would be acknowledged by the family. After I gave birth to Owen, they took him to the old estate on Nantucket. They said my "mental state made me unfit" to raise him. I was allowed to see my son once a week. Supervised by the housekeeper and a lawyer. Like a prison visit. Years later, Owen finally came back to live with me. But by then, his grandparents had taught him everything. He'd learned to despise me the way they did. He never called me Mom. Just Catherine. He introduced me to his classmates as "my father's wife." At one family dinner, he told Genevieve in fluent French that she should have been his mother. Then he turned to me, all innocence. "Sorry. Forgot you don't speak French." I wanted so badly to repair things with him. I turned a blind eye to every insult, every dismissal. I kept trying to win him over. But he only had warmth for Genevieve. Before the birthday party, I'd heard him tell his friends a hundred times. He wanted a Jellycat bunny. I bought it. I was going to give it to him when he blew out his candles. But when the host asked for his wish, he shot me a look full of spite and screamed it out. "I want Genevieve Sinclair to be my mom." It felt like ten thousand knives stabbing into my heart at once. The guests' laughter flayed me alive. And Nathaniel let it all happen. I swallowed the hurt and humiliation. I forced a smile. I greeted every guest like nothing was wrong. In the end, I wasn't even allowed to have my own face in my own family photo. This time, I was truly done. I just wanted to escape this suffocating nightmare. "Nathaniel, you're not leaving this house until you sign."
I locked my fingers around Nathaniel's arm. My nails bit into the fabric of his tailored suit. "Catherine! Are you trying to drive everyone insane?!" He seized the crystal paperweight off his desk and hurled it to the floor. The shatter echoed through the entire house. "Ah!" Genevieve screamed, cowering in place. Nathaniel rushed to her instantly. He shielded her behind him, patting her back, murmuring reassurances. He didn't notice the shards of glass that had sliced open the top of my foot. Blood trailed down my ankle. It dripped onto the dark walnut floor. "Nathaniel," Genevieve's voice cracked. "I should've never gone to that birthday party. I never imagined it would cause this much trouble between you and your wife." "It's not your fault. This is on me." Nathaniel's gray-blue eyes were thick with guilt. "I should have handled this." Genevieve shook her head, a delicate sob escaping. She tugged at his sleeve. "The most important thing right now is to calm Mrs. Whitmore down." One sentence. That was all it took to bring Nathaniel back to cold focus. He ordered the butler to bring Owen down. A few moments later, Owen trudged down the stairs. The second he saw Genevieve, he tore free from the butler and ran into her arms. "Auntie Gina, I missed you so much." Genevieve scooped him up, patting him affectionately. "Auntie missed you too, sweetheart." Owen noticed the tear streaks on her face. He waved a tiny fist in the air. "Why are you crying? Who hurt you? I'll punch them!" From start to finish, Owen didn't spare me a single glance. I forced the words out. "Owen. Come to Mommy." Owen finally turned his head. He looked at me with a calm far too old for his age. "Please don't act like this in front of guests, Catherine. It's unbecoming." A dull blade. That's what it felt like. Sawing slowly, cruelly, through my heart. "Owen! That's no way to talk!" Nathaniel's reprimand had almost no weight behind it. Just going through the motions. "He's just a child. Give it time." Genevieve's voice was butter-soft. Owen immediately clung to her like she was his fortress. "Auntie Gina is the best. Not like some people. Always giving Dad trouble." "Owen!" Nathaniel's face finally hardened. But I knew. It wasn't to defend me. He just didn't want the situation to get uglier. "Apologize to your mother. Or she's really going to leave." Owen's eyes lit up. Pure, unfiltered joy. "She's really leaving?" He turned to me, his face bright with victory. "Then I apologize for my wording. You can go now." My heart was being carved out piece by piece. Was this truly the child I'd carried inside me for ten months? Nathaniel's brow furrowed hard. "You do not speak like that! Apologize properly to your mother!" Owen had inherited Nathaniel's stubbornness. Stubborn as a mule. His eyes went red. He shook his head violently. "I already apologized. If she won't accept it, that's her problem." Even Nathaniel was powerless against him. It was Genevieve who crouched down. Her voice was a soft coo. "Sweetheart, be good for Auntie. Say a proper sorry to your mom. Okay?" Owen bit his lip. He hesitated for a long moment. Then, impossibly, he gave in. "Sorry. Is that good enough?" Nathaniel exhaled in relief. "He apologized. Now can you stop this?" "Enough is enough. I've done everything I can." Right then, Genevieve's phone buzzed. She glanced at it and typed a reply. Immediately, Owen's Apple Watch lit up. For the next two minutes, the phone and the watch vibrated in a steady rhythm. A secretive little smile played on Owen's lips. He shot me a furtive glance. My stomach dropped. I realized they were chatting. Privately. About me. My fingers trembled uncontrollably. Before rational thought could stop me, I lunged forward and ripped the watch off Owen's wrist. "That's mine! Give it back!" Owen shrieked and flew at me. His small fists rained down on my face and neck. I barely felt the pain. I stared at the screen. Owen, Nathaniel, and Genevieve had a group chat. The name blazed at the top: The Dream Team ✨. Owen: She's got that sour face on again today. I can't stand her. Genevieve: Sweetie, that's not nice to say~ But Auntie hates seeing you so upset too ? Owen: Why doesn't she just move out? Then Owen can be with Auntie Gina forever! Genevieve: Darling, we keep those thoughts right here in our hearts, okay? Saying them out loud might make Mommy sad… My vision blurred. Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice. My husband. My son. And another woman. Their "Dream Team." What a monumental joke. The watch hit the floor. The screen shattered into pieces. "You broke my watch!" Owen was shaking with rage. "Do you know Auntie Gina gave me that?!" He scooped up the broken pieces and hurled them at my head. A sharp burst of pain. Warm liquid trickled down. I touched my fingers to the wound. They came back red. "Owen. Enough." Nathaniel finally reached out to stop him. He pulled a few tissues from the side table and handed them to me. "Sometimes when your child isn't close to you, you need to look at yourself." "You're always this aggressive. Who would want to be near you?" "Alright. He apologized. You should be satisfied now." The blood soaked through the tissues fast. I stood there in silence, looking at the three of them. My husband. Shielding Genevieve. My son. Glaring at me from the space between them. And Genevieve. Clutching Owen with such tender concern. What a blissful little family they made. "Sign." My voice came out eerily calm. "This marriage is over."
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