The next morning, I started packing my things.
Everything I couldn’t take with me went into boxes—what didn’t fit, I threw out without hesitation.
I took down the only family photo hanging in the living room.
In that picture, I was the only one smiling.
Funny, isn’t it? Eight years together, and this was the only family photo we ever had. Liam only agreed to take it because my parents insisted.
My thoughts drifted back to the beginning—
when I had just been forced to give up my dream, and told myself that if racing was no longer an option, then at least I could devote myself to family. I still believed in love back then. I still believed in us.
“Clara, you’re such a kind girl. I’m glad Noah has you to care for him.”
“Once I finish this race, I’ll give you the wedding you’ve always wanted.”
I really thought I could be a good wife, a good mother. That the three of us could be happy.
But now, looking back, it all seems like a fool’s daydream.
“Where’s my warm milk? Why are you just standing there staring again? I told you, I need my hot milk every morning!”
Noah’s sharp voice cut through my thoughts.
The maid tried to soothe him. “Please don’t be angry, young master. The milk is right here—”
He shoved her aside, stormed toward me, and snatched the photo from my hands—then smashed it to the floor.
The glass shattered, fragments scattering across the tiles.
The only family photo we ever had lay broken at our feet—just like the family itself.
Noah didn’t even flinch. He pointed a trembling finger at me, his eyes full of hatred.
“I want you to make it! Why should you live in our house for free, doing nothing all day? This is your job!”
I stared at him for a moment, said nothing, then turned toward the kitchen.
When I brought him the milk, he took one sip—then slammed the cup to the floor.
Warm liquid splattered over my shoes.
A few sharp shards sliced my calf. I barely even reacted.
“It’s too hot!”
I knew he was doing it on purpose. He always did.
For years, he’d refused to call me Mom, treating me like hired help.
Eight years I raised him—fed him, taught him, loved him—and still, all I got in return was cruelty.
“I’ll find my own way to get rid of you,” he sneered. “Don’t think staying here means you can replace my mom. The only one who can be my mother is Aunt Vanessa.”
My hands clenched at my sides. I gave him one last glance and turned to leave.
“Didn’t you hear me, you useless servant?!”
Before I could respond, a deep voice echoed from the doorway.
“What’s going on?”
I looked up. Liam stood there—
and behind him, Vanessa.
I lowered my gaze, pretending not to see her, but Liam didn’t like that.
He stepped closer, frowning. “Look at this mess. You didn’t think to clean up? What if Noah steps on the glass and gets hurt?”
I let out a quiet laugh. “What, am I really your maid now?”
His expression stiffened, his brows knitting together.
“I just asked you to clean the floor. Do you have to be like this? You’re the only one here who does nothing all day. Who else should do it—me?”
Vanessa’s soft voice chimed in behind him, sickly sweet.
“Let me do it, Liam. Clara’s the lady of the house—she shouldn’t do something so rough.”
She crouched, reaching for a shard of glass—then gasped dramatically.
“Oh! I cut myself!”
A single red dot bloomed on her fingertip. It was barely visible.
But Liam’s reaction was instant—he grabbed her hand, eyes full of panic, and brought it to his lips.
“Don’t touch that,” he scolded gently. “Your hands are made for racing, not cleaning floors. Let Clara do it. If you get hurt, it hurts me too.”
His words stabbed straight through me.
Eight years of devotion, and all it took was one drop of her blood to erase it all.
He didn’t even glance my way again.
He took Vanessa’s hand and led her upstairs, calling to the maid,
“Bring up Vanessa’s luggage. She’ll be staying in the master bedroom from now on.”
Then, without missing a beat:
“She needs to rest—she’s got important races ahead. Clara, move your things out. And make sure her meals are nutritious and varied. No repeats.”
It was an order, not a request.
Noah’s face lit up. He ran over and threw his arms around Vanessa.
“Aunt Vanessa, you’re staying with us? That’s awesome! I wish you were my mom—you could even teach me how to race!”
The three of them—laughing together, radiant and warm—
the picture-perfect family.
Only I didn’t belong in it.
I left the room without a word.
Not long after, a knock sounded at my door.
Suppressing my irritation, I opened it.
“What is it?” I asked flatly.
Liam hesitated at my tone.
“I just wanted to say—Vanessa and I are just teacher and student. She’s talented, Clara. There aren’t many racers like her. I hope you can understand. I can’t exactly take you to the track—you wouldn’t know what to do there. You’d only embarrass me.”
I stared at him, numb.
He’d said those same words years ago—
the first time we fought about Vanessa.
“You’re just a housewife. You don’t understand the passion of the track. Don’t twist something pure into your dirty imagination.”
Those words had carved themselves into my memory,
each repetition cutting a little deeper.
He reached out, taking my hand. He looked like he wanted to say more—
but before he could, a soft, sugary voice drifted from behind him.
“Liam, this wedding dress is so beautiful. Can I wear it?”
