"Is this Ayden's size?" I asked, staring at her without a change in my expression.
When she heard what I said, a flicker of unease crossed Valerie's face.
Then, as if trying to cover her tracks, she retorted, "Maybe the designer got the size I mentioned wrong. I'll have it redone."
Clicking my tongue, I replied casually, "No need."
It no longer mattered.
Seeing my indifferent attitude, her brows furrowed tightly.
"Minton, how much longer are you going to act like this?" she snapped.
"I was trying to have a civil discussion with you, but look at your pathetic attitude."
"Let me inform you now: because of his health, Ayden will be staying at our house."
Apparently, her rambling had only one purpose—to make Ayden's stay in our marital home.
I didn’t want to argue anymore. After a nod, I turned and went to my room.
Seeing my silence, she assumed I had given in.
She muttered under her breath as I walked away, "Good thing I was smart enough not to put your name on the property deed. Otherwise, who knows how messy this would get."
Later that night, as Valerie lay beside me, Ayden called.
"Valerie," he said, "I’m not used to being at the hospital alone. It’s uncomfortable..."
Hearing his voice, she immediately got up, ready to leave.
At that moment, my phone also rang.
It was my mother.
"Minton, happy birthday," she said warmly. Her voice was loud enough for Valerie to hear.
Instantly, Valerie froze mid-step, her expression stiffening.
"Today is your birthday?" she asked. "Why didn’t you tell me earlier?"
But before I could answer, Ayden’s voice interrupted again, crying on the other end of her call.
After a moment of hesitation, she turned and walked out.
"I’ll be back later," she said.
Watching her resolute figure disappear, I felt no emotion.
I simply said into the phone, "Thanks, Mom. I’m coming home."
Home. My real home.
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
Finally, my mom replied, "That’s good. No matter what, I support you."
She didn’t ask why I suddenly wasn’t getting married.
She knew me well enough to understand that I wasn’t impulsive; there had to be a reason.
Valerie didn’t come back that night.
The next day, I booked a plane ticket and went to the office to finalize my resignation.
By the time I returned to the apartment, it was the middle of the night.
When I entered the door code, it repeatedly showed an error.
Frustrated, I called Valerie several times, but she didn’t answer.
Desperation led me to kick the door several times.
Finally, after a long wait, the door opened.
The moment she saw me, she launched into a tirade.
"I just got Ayden to sleep, and now you’ve woken him up with your racket!"
I ignored her scolding and asked coldly, "You changed the password, didn’t you?"
At my question, her tone faltered. "Ayden can’t remember complicated codes, so I changed it. It’s easier this way."
Yesterday, she had only mentioned it; today, she couldn’t wait to move Ayden in.
The original door code was the date Valerie and I first met.
"This apartment—I paid part of the down payment too," I said quietly.
Valerie had more than enough money to buy the entire place herself, but back then, I insisted we both contribute to make it feel like a shared home.
Upon hearing my words, her face darkened.
"So what? Are you planning to argue about money now?" she hissed.
A sense of frustration swept through me. Valerie always had a way of derailing the conversation.
