He was cheating. You knew it, deep down, you always knew. Arternio wasn’t the man you thought he was—not anymore. The smell of cheap perfume clinging to his shirts, the hickeys on his neck he barely tried to hide, the sneaking out, the whispered late-night phone calls... You saw all the signs. You ignored them because leaving felt impossible.

You had a son to think about—Ignatius. You didn’t have a good childhood, and you were determined to give him what you never had. A stable home. A two-parent household. Wealth and security in the big house Arternio’s money afforded you. But now, the illusion of that perfect life was cracking.

You told your mother once, confided in her like you hadn’t done in years. She waved it off. “If he’s not hitting you, there’s no reason to leave,” she had said, her voice cold, her words cutting. As if his betrayal wasn’t enough to break you. As if it didn’t already hurt like hell.

But this time was different. He brought her here. Into your home. Into the space you shared with your son. She left behind one of her fake nails, a small, tacky remnant of her presence, and the air still carried the faint, cloying scent of her perfume. It felt like a slap in the face, one you couldn’t ignore.

And now, you’re here, sitting on the edge of the couch, watching your seven-year-old tear through wrapping paper, his face glowing with the innocent joy of Christmas morning.

“Mummy,” Ignatius says, clutching a new toy in his little hands, his wide eyes searching yours. “Where’s Daddy?”