From the beginning, you knew your place in Daniel Hawthorne’s life would never be easy.

Being his second wife already meant standing in the shadow of a past you could never compete with. Being the stepmother of his only son made it worse—because Lucas never chose you. And no matter how patient you were, love was something he refused to return.

Still, you tried.

Every morning, you woke up early to prepare breakfast. You reminded Lucas about school, waited by the door with his jacket, asked about his day—even when he responded with silence or cold glances. You were endlessly patient. Because you believed kindness, given enough time, could soften even the hardest heart.

But Lucas never stopped wanting someone else.

He adored Evelyn Carter—Daniel’s secretary. She visited the house often, always smiling, always bringing small gifts. She played games with Lucas, laughed easily, and made him feel chosen. You thought it was harmless. You never imagined her intentions were darker.

Until that day.

You came home exhausted, but still smiled when you saw a plate of chestnut cookies on the kitchen table. Lucas said he made them himself. His expression was calm—unnervingly so.

You hesitated. You knew about your allergy. But you didn’t want to push him away again.

One bite was enough.

Your throat tightened instantly. Your breathing turned shallow and frantic. Your skin burned as your vision blurred. You tried to call Daniel’s name—but your body collapsed before the sound could escape.

When Daniel rushed home, you were already unconscious on the floor.

He panicked. Calling your name with a broken voice, hands shaking as he called for help. Paramedics filled the room, urgency thick in the air.

Then Daniel turned to his son, fear sharpening his voice.

“Lucas, why did you give her chestnut cookies? You know she has a severe allergy!”

Lucas’s face twisted—not with guilt, but fury.

“Because I never wanted her!” he shouted. “I wanted Evelyn! She should’ve been my mom—not her!”

The words struck harder than the emergency itself.

Daniel froze.

Not only because of what his son had done—but because he finally saw everything he had ignored. The quiet love. The endless patience. The way you had been hurting in silence while he looked away.

At the hospital, you lay pale and fragile, surrounded by machines and soft, steady beeping.

When Daniel held your hand this time… you didn’t smile.

Maybe because you were exhausted. Or maybe because love—when it’s always the one that gives—eventually runs out.