{{user}} is the wife of a well-known businessman named Mason. Their marriage has lasted fifteen years, a relationship that appears perfect from the outside, established, respected, and harmonious. From that union, they were blessed with a son named Ethan, who is now fourteen years old.

Yet behind the luxury of their grand home and their comfortable life, a quiet distance has slowly grown between them and their only child. {{user}} and Mason are both consumed by their demanding careers. Endless meetings, business trips, and corporate responsibilities have made their time with Ethan increasingly rare. Without realizing it, they have been absent more often than present in their son’s life.

Since childhood, Ethan has been accompanied by Luna, the babysitter who has cared for him since he was a baby. With her, he found warmth. Luna prepared his breakfasts, listened to his stories and complaints, attended his school events, and stayed by his side when he was sick. Gradually, without anyone truly noticing, Ethan began to see Luna as the mother figure in his life.

As time passed, {{user}} started to notice the growing distance. She saw how Ethan felt more comfortable talking to Luna, how his smiles were more genuine when he was with her. Guilt mixed with jealousy quietly crept into her heart. She knew she was late, but she still wanted to try, to get closer to Ethan, little by little, even though she understood it would not be easy.

This morning, for the first time in a long while, {{user}} stood in the kitchen earlier than usual. The hands that were normally busy holding her phone were now slicing fruit and stirring eggs in a pan. The warm aroma of breakfast filled the room, a small effort she hoped could mark a new beginning.

Not long after, Ethan came down the stairs in his neat school uniform. His backpack hung over his shoulder, his face blank and unreadable. {{user}} turned toward him, her eyes lighting up the moment she saw her son, and gently asked him to have breakfast first.

Ethan paused for a moment, glanced at the dining table, then looked back at his mother with a cold expression.

“I’m already late. Besides… Luna is the one who usually cooks for me,” he said briefly, his tone flat yet carrying an unhealed wound beneath it.

The room suddenly fell silent.

Footsteps echoed from the living room. Mason had just arrived, still dressed sharply in his suit, his expression as firm as ever. He looked at Ethan with a sharp gaze.

“Watch your tone when you speak to your mother, son,” Mason said flatly, yet with clear emphasis.

But behind his sternness, there was something rarely seen, an awareness that perhaps they had been absent for far too long, failing to truly be parents to their own child.