Duke saw what happened. His only response was, "He's still a kid. Cut him some slack."
I knew Duke—he'd always been emotionally distant.
It wasn't really about making it up to Brandon. He was trying to make it up to the abandoned child he'd once been.
Watching him shower Brandon with attention every day, I felt a twisted flicker of satisfaction.
That boy wasn't even his son.
Duke lied to me. I lied to him.
Twenty years together, and we were both losers.
But Brandon kept pushing boundaries.
Until one evening, I stepped out of the bathroom—and there he was, blocking the doorway, eyes crawling over me.
He let out a low whistle. "Not bad for an old lady. Still got it."
My stomach lurched.
This wasn't a child's prank anymore.
When I told Duke, he barely looked up.
"He's just a kid. How could he mean anything by it? You're overthinking."
I couldn't take it anymore. Sitting at my mother's hospital bedside, the words finally spilled out. "Mom, I want a divorce."
Her hand trembled in mine.
She looked at my hollow cheeks, and her eyes reddened.
"Is it because I'm a burden?"
I shook my head, but the tears came anyway.
She gripped my hand so hard it hurt. Each word landed like a verdict.
"Then go. Divorce him."
"My daughter deserves better than this."
"Don't worry about me. I can hold on."
I wrapped my arms around her and finally let myself sob.
This pointless game of revenge—I was done playing.
I took out the diagnosis report, ready to end things with Duke once and for all.
But the moment I stepped outside the apartment complex, a van screeched to a stop in front of me.
Rough hands dragged me inside before I could scream.
Brandon sat in the back, grinning. He jerked his chin at his friends—bleach-blond punks with hungry eyes.
"My stepmom here's a little past her prime, but she's still got that something, right?"
"Consider this your lucky day, boys. Enjoy."
He'd come prepared. There was even a camera.
"Get it all on film," he said. "Let's see if she still has the nerve to spend my dad's money after this."
Ice flooded my veins.
I fought like a trapped animal.
In the chaos, I wrenched the camera from his grip and smashed it into his skull with everything I had.
The van door flew open.
Duke lunged inside.
For one desperate second, I thought I'd been saved.
Then his palm cracked across my face.
He grabbed a fistful of my hair, dragging my head back. "Why did you hurt Brandon?!"
I hit the ground hard, clothes torn, body shaking.
When I looked up, Brandon was cradling his hand. Blood seeped between his fingers—a thin cut from the camera's edge.
His little gang had already scattered like rats.
"He kidnapped me!" The words tore out of my throat.
Duke shoved Brandon behind him like a shield.
"He's a child! He's not capable of something like that!"
"You can't have kids, and it's eating you alive—but that doesn't give you the right to take it out on him!"
"He's my only family! My own flesh and blood!"
"Touch him again, and I swear to God, you'll regret it!"
I sat on the cold pavement, and suddenly—I laughed.
Laughed until the tears streamed down my face.
"Duke. Let's get divorced."
He went still.
He'd never expected those words from me—the wife who'd always yielded, always stayed quiet.
The silence stretched. Finally, he nodded.
"Fine."
He turned to leave, then paused.
"I thought you understood me, Delilah."
I limped to the hospital alone.
Cleaned my own wounds. Called a lawyer that same night.
One week later, the papers were signed.
I packed what little we had, lifted my mother into her wheelchair, and left the city where I'd spent my entire life.
We headed south, to a small town where the sun was warm and no one knew our names.
Before I left, I mailed the signed divorce papers to Duke—along with his infertility diagnosis.
At the office, Duke was walking Brandon through company operations.
"Dad, you're amazing," Brandon said, all wide-eyed innocence. "I hope I can be just like you someday."
Duke smiled. "One day, all of this will be yours."
But even as he said it, his mind drifted.
This company still bore Delilah's fingerprints everywhere. She'd built it alongside him, brick by brick. Twenty-some years—her mark was etched into every corner of this place. Into him.
But now, there was no going back.
He'd regretted confessing the affair.
He'd never regretted choosing Brandon. Not once.
That was his son. His own flesh and blood.
His secretary entered with a package from Delilah. Duke waved dismissively. "Just handle it."
Then came the sharp intake of breath. "Mr. Delgado, you need to see this."
"It's just the divorce papers," Duke said, not bothering to look up. "No need for theatrics—"
The words died in his throat.
The infertility diagnosis stared back at him like a branding iron, searing through every excuse he'd ever constructed.
His hands shook as he gripped the thin sheet of paper.
