My blood ran cold. I was already moving toward the exit before I could fully process what I was seeing.
Just then, I saw Dorian reach out and gently pin a custom brooch—the one engraved with the Halle family crest—onto Cassandra's collar.
That brooch should have been mine.
Not far away, at the entrance of the club, stood my son.
With his equestrian bag slung over his small shoulder, he stared, frozen, as his Uncle tenderly bestowed the family's honor upon a strange woman.
A gentleness and patience my son and I had never been shown.
I was about to rush to him when Dorian finally noticed him.
His body went rigid for a split second, and he snatched his hand back. But a moment later, he squared his shoulders, moved to shield Cassandra protectively, and walked straight past our son.
As if he didn't even recognize the little boy standing there.
My heart seized. I quickly took my son's hand and led him back to our table.
Before I could speak, his eyes turned red. He asked in a tiny voice, "Mamma, is she the new woman Uncle wants in our house?"
Words failed me. I could only nod, tears blurring my vision.
My son asked no more questions. He silently took out his tablet and began his homework.
But silent tears dripped onto the tablet screen.
I clutched him to my chest. He was my entire world.
Two chances left, Dorian.
Later, I took my son home.
On the way, he suddenly asked, "Mamma, can Uncle come to my awards ceremony tonight?"
In our seven years of marriage, Dorian had never once attended any of Leo’s school events.
Looking at his hopeful eyes, I couldn't say no. I texted Dorian.
[Leo has his awards ceremony tonight. Will you be free?]
As expected, my screen remained blank.
My son lowered his head, his little hands clutching his gear bag.
"He's not coming, is he?"
He forced a smile, trying to convince himself more than me. "It's okay. Uncle is busy. I understand."
His words landed like a lead weight in my chest.
Just as I was about to find something, anything, to say, my phone buzzed.
It was Dorian.
[I'm free. I'll be there.]
My own heart leaped with a shock of joy. I immediately turned the screen to my son.
"Leo, look! He's coming!"
He stared for a moment, then a grin of pure, unadulterated joy spread across his face.
Seven years. It was the first time Dorian had ever agreed to attend an event with us.
That one promise made my son bubble with excitement the entire way home.
He chattered on about how many times his teacher had praised him, the awards he’d won, and his high scores in the equestrian competition.
His eyes lit up. "Mamma, I'm this semester's MVP! They're going to announce it at the ceremony tonight!"
He hesitated for a moment before asking, "Mamma… if Uncle sees how well I'm doing, do you think he'll like me more?"
I froze, and the ache in my heart intensified. I sent a silent prayer into the universe, begging that Dorian wouldn't break his promise this time.
I just wanted to give my son this one memory, this one beautiful lie, before we disappeared.
The clock ticked on.
The awards ceremony was about to begin.
Dorian never showed.
But Cassandra posted a new photo to her social media.
In the photo, Dorian sat beside a strange little boy at a private range, patiently showing him how to hold a real gun.
Her caption read: [The future Don!]
I turned my head and looked into the living room.
My seven-year-old son was sitting quietly on the living room carpet, meticulously polishing the small wooden practice bow I’d bought him.
The same scene. The same age. The same desperate need for a father's love.
And his was never there.
Sensing my gaze, my son looked up. His small hands tightened on the bow as he spoke carefully.
