I nodded and slipped into the kitchen through the side door.
My heart pounded with a fragile hope—maybe Joel still had some real feelings for me after all.
I glanced back, only to see him guide Kay inside with his hand resting tenderly on the small of her back.
The housekeeper bowed respectfully. "Welcome home, Mr. Gilbert, Mrs. Gilbert."
My nails dug into my palms until they stung. I turned away with a quiet, bitter laugh.
The kitchen was overflowing with ingredients—preparing everything would be exhausting. But thinking of the way Johnny's face lit up whenever he ate something he loved, what did a little exhaustion matter?
Then I heard it—a bright, cheerful voice calling out, "Mama!"
My eyes burned. My vision blurred.
I quickly wiped away the tears and turned around, arms already open wide.
But it wasn't me he ran to. Johnny threw himself into Kay's arms, excitedly calling her "Mama."
Kay held him close, shooting me a look of pure triumph.
Johnny noticed me standing there, covered in fish blood and grime. His little face twisted with disgust.
"Mama, she's so dirty—like a beggar. Let's get out of here."
That look of revulsion cut through me like a blade, slicing my heart wide open.
As they passed, Kay gave me a smug, sidelong glance.
"Johnny, who do you love the most?"
Johnny wrapped his arms around her neck, eyes sparkling. "Mama, of course!"
Then he shot me a glare and muttered, "I hate smelly beggars."
I had seen Johnny just two weeks ago. I'd given him a good-luck bracelet I'd woven myself.
He hadn't even looked at it before tossing it in the trash. Then he'd screamed at me, calling me a dirty, stinking beggar.
When others saw him sobbing and gasping for breath, crying for his mama, they assumed I was trying to kidnap him. They pinned me to the ground and beat me until Joel arrived at the police station to clear up the misunderstanding.
But I hadn't missed the disgust in Johnny's eyes that day.
He recognized me. He just refused to acknowledge me as his mother.
I smiled bitterly, crouched back down, and continued filleting the fish.
Last time I'd watched Johnny sleep, he'd murmured in his dreams about wanting sour cabbage fish.
Before long, Joel stormed into the kitchen, his face dark as a thundercloud.
He grabbed my wrist so hard that the knife sliced across the back of my hand.
I cried out. Blood dripped through my fingers and splattered onto the floor.
His grip on my wrist was crushing, like he wanted to grind the bones to dust.
"Mary! How many times do I have to tell you? Kay and I are just colleagues. Her parents aren't in the country—as her boss, is it so wrong to invite her for New Year's dinner? Why the hell did you hit her?"
I wrenched my hand free, tears spilling down my cheeks.
"It wasn't me!"
Joel's hand flew up. The slap snapped my head to the side.
"Johnny saw the whole thing!" he shouted. "You're his mother—why would he lie to help an outsider hurt you?"
Across the room, Johnny made a face at me and clutched Kay's hand tighter.
Eight years. I had carried him, given birth to him, raised him for eight years. He had never once called me "Mama." Never once come to me willingly.
But he would run into Kay's arms, cuddle up to her, let her attend parent-teacher conferences as his mother.
I let out a hollow laugh.
"Fine. It's all my fault. I'll apologize to Miss Pruitt."
I bowed deeply to Kay—ninety degrees—biting the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood, just to keep the tears from falling.
Joel stared at the blood pooling on the floor and found a bandage.
I pulled away before he could touch me and applied it myself.
Johnny muttered that this was boring and dragged Kay off to play with his toys.
Joel assumed I was sulking. His voice softened, coaxing.
"We're setting off fireworks later. I'll let you stand closer to Johnny."
Inside my pocket, my fingers tightened around the good-luck charm I'd planned to give Johnny for the new year.
I nodded.
