When I got home, the house was quiet.
Zachary should still be napping at this hour.
I gently pushed open his door, careful not to make a sound that might wake him. But the music coming from the room made my blood run cold.
He was watching a dance video of Julia.
I bit my lip tightly and stood by the door, waiting silently as he watched the entire routine.
When the video ended, Zachary looked a little lost.
“Dad hasn’t taken me to see Aunt Julia in so long,” he murmured, holding his cheek. “If only Aunt Julia were my mom. Then I could see her every day.”
Every ounce of strength left my body, and my heart felt like a raw wound had been torn open.
So Zachary had already met Julia. So, in his heart, she mattered more than I did.
I stumbled, making a slight noise, which caught Zachary’s attention.
“Mom!” He flipped the tablet over and looked at me anxiously. “When did you get back?”
I saw hesitation in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, I deliberately asked, “What were you watching?”
His eyes darted away. “Cartoons!”
“Mom, where have you been? Zachary woke from his nap and noticed you weren’t here!” He climbed out of bed and threw himself into my arms.
He was bigger than most kids his age, and the force of his hug sent a sharp ache through my knees.
My vision blurred, and I collapsed to the floor, tears streaming uncontrollably.
“Mom, why are you crying again?” Zachary asked, anger creeping into his voice instead of concern. “I just wanted you to hold me, and you’re crying like that. Not like Julia…”
He quickly stopped himself, obviously warned by Alan not to mention Julia around me. Zachary curled his lips in frustration. “Other kids have their moms holding them, but you? You’re always complaining about pain. How can you be a mom like that? Humph!”
I stood frozen, watching him run circles around me and then head downstairs.
This is the child I fought so hard to bring into this world. This is the child I raised, despite the unbearable pain.
I curled up on the floor, my tears forming a small puddle beneath me.
On the way home, my mind kept circling the question: What should I do with this child?
This child I carried for ten months, even if not of my blood, I raised him with my whole heart.
Loving him had become instinct, part of who I am. I wanted to take him with me.
But now, I realize—it’s unnecessary.
When Alan returned and heard what happened that afternoon, he rushed over without even changing.
His warm hand pressed gently to my knee, his face filled with worry and distress.
“Tell me, where does it hurt?”
His warmth made me feel queasy. “Zachary’s carelessness is to blame. I’ll have to teach him a lesson later. Nina, I’ll take you to the hospital first.”
“No, it’s not necessary.” I pushed his hand away gently and forced a smile. “It’s just an old injury. Nothing serious. A warm compress will do.”
Alan’s phone suddenly vibrated. He glanced at the screen, then touched my face softly.
“I have work to finish. I’m going to the study. You should get some rest.”
“Okay.” I nodded but quietly followed him once he left.
