His Regret Came Too Late

The intern my husband brought home deliberately gave our son, who has a severe peanut allergy, a peanut butter snack.

When my husband found out, he accused me of overreacting and ruining Thanksgiving.

This single act triggered a chain of events that ended with my son dying in a hot car.

It wasn't until I left him for good that the regret began to consume him.

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1

On the first day of Thanksgiving, my husband, Caleb Hayes, insisted on having an intern from his company join us for the holiday.

He gave the guest room—the one we were converting into a nursery—to an intern named Maya Lowe.

The moment I turned my back to head for the kitchen, Maya fed a peanut cookie to my eight-month-old son, Owen, despite his severe allergy.

By the time I rushed over and knocked the cookie from her hand, she had already retreated into Caleb's arms, weeping. "I just wanted to help... Clara looked so worn out, and I thought a little treat would make Owen smile."

Shaking with rage, I ordered her to get out, but Caleb shielded her. "Maya meant well. Stop being so hysterical. It was a tiny piece of a cookie. Owen will be fine."

He even threatened me, "Apologize to Maya, or I'm cutting off your credit card for the holiday."

In my frantic rush to get Owen to the emergency room, I had to choke out an apology through gritted teeth. As I carried my son out the door, I heard Caleb whisper to Maya, "Don't mind her. Clara's just a spoiled brat. She forgets who pays the bills around here."

In the emergency room, staring at Owen’s small, swollen face, I finally called my parents in Europe. I said, "Dad, Mom, I want a divorce. And I want to come back to The Prescott Group."

My mother hesitated on the other end of the line. "Honey, are you absolutely sure?"

I gazed at Owen, his eyes squeezed shut on the hospital bed, and answered softly, "Yes."

It took several reassurances, but my mother finally accepted my decision.

"When are you coming back? I'll come pick you up."

"In a month. After I've handled everything here."

A month, I thought, should be enough time to finalize the divorce.

After hanging up, I asked the on-duty nurse to watch my son for a bit while I went home to get his bottle and other necessities.

It was three in the morning by the time I returned to our apartment on the Upper East Side.

The moment I opened the door, I was met with the scent of a perfume that wasn't mine.

Caleb, who was in the kitchen warming milk for Maya, was startled by my arrival. He hurried out, glanced at Maya sleeping on the sofa, and then let out a sigh of relief. He grabbed my wrist and started pushing me toward the door.

"Keep your voice down! Maya just fell asleep. Are you trying to wake her?"

He saw my grim expression and frowned. "Maya's never looked after a kid before, how was she supposed to know about the peanut allergy? What is your problem? She feels guilty enough without you glaring at her and making it worse!"

He didn't even ask why I was back alone; perhaps he didn't care. To him, the most important thing was not letting me disturb Maya.

Ever since Maya moved in, she had become the center of Caleb's universe. I was expected to care not only for Owen but also for this twenty-something "giant baby."

When I tentatively suggested Maya move into a hotel, Caleb exploded. "What is wrong with you? A young girl, all alone in a hotel? What if something happens to her? Can't you be a little more tolerant?"

For the sake of our family, I had put up with it. But I was done tolerating his behavior, and I was done with him.

Seeing my silence, Caleb tightened his grip on my arm. "Did you hear me?"

I took a deep breath, forcefully shook his hand off, and walked past him to pack Owen's things.

When I picked up the can of expensive hydrolyzed formula imported from Germany, I noticed it was surprisingly light. A knot of dread formed in my stomach; this was the only formula Owen could tolerate.

I opened every single can. They were all empty.

Maya, now awake, explained, "Clara, I'm so sorry. I was trying to help by getting the formula ready, but my hand slipped and I knocked them all over. But don't worry, I'll pay you back."

Before I could speak, Caleb interjected, "It's just a few cans of formula. There's no need to pay her back."

I clenched my fists, my jaw tight. "Don't you know Owen throws up any other formula?"

"Then this is a good opportunity for him to toughen up. A boy shouldn't be so delicate," Caleb replied coldly.

His words drew a bitter laugh from me. Wake up, Clara. To him, you and your son are worth less than Maya. Why are you still here? To be humiliated again?

I finished packing, grabbed the suitcase, and left without a backward glance.