When Love Ends, So Does Mercy

My older brother ran away the day before his wedding, abandoning not just his bride-to-be but also the newborn daughter she had just given birth to a month prior. Afraid of offending the Roger family—one of the most powerful in Riverford—our parents panicked. They begged me to take my brother's place and go through with the wedding in his stead.

So, I did.

From that day forward, I took on a role that was never meant to be mine. I became a stand-in husband and a reluctant father. But I didn't do it halfway.

I cared for Sara, my brother's bride, as if she were my own wife. I raised Elise, their child, like she was mine. Whether it was bottle feedings at 3 a.m. or rushing home from work when she had a fever, I was there. I handled everything—big and small, mundane or urgent—with silent dedication.

Ten years passed like that.

And in those ten years, people praised me. They said I was the perfect husband. The ideal father. No one remembered that I was a substitute. Maybe even I had started to forget.

Then, three days before Elise's tenth birthday, everything unraveled.

I had come home early from work. As I passed by the study, I saw Sara crouched beside Elise, her hand gently resting on the child's head. A motherly gesture—warm, tender. But her expression told another story.

Her eyes were sharp with loathing.

"You're old enough now," she whispered. "Stay away from your uncle from now on. If it weren't for him, your father would've never run away. He would've been here. He would've stayed."

My breath caught in my throat.

She wasn't done. "Don't worry. I've already found your father. Soon, the three of us will be together again."

Elise slowly raised her head. Her eyes, once so trusting, locked on her mother's with confusion—and then comprehension. She looked like something inside her had just snapped into place.

"So... Dad didn't want me because of Uncle Oliver?"

That was when they noticed me standing at the doorway.

Elise's face twisted in fury. She ran at me with no warning and shoved me hard. My body slammed into the stair railing and I stumbled, falling awkwardly down the last few steps. Pain shot through my ankle.

From the top of the stairs, she glared down at me, her small frame trembling. "I hate you! This is all your fault!"

By nightfall, I had a sprained ankle, a bruised shoulder and a heart that felt like it had been crushed.

I limped to the phone, dialed an international number I hadn't touched in a decade.

"Professor Murray," I said, my voice low, "I'm ready to join the research project."

——

It was a call I should've made ten years ago.

The moment I ended the call, Sara walked in. Elise followed, arms crossed, gaze sharp with the kind of disdain only a child scorned could carry.

"So you heard everything," Sara said. Her tone was casual now, like a burden had finally been lifted. "Then I won't bother pretending anymore. Francis is coming back soon. You'd better behave. Don't stir up trouble, or there really won't be a place for you in this house."

Elise stepped forward, her eyes cold and unforgiving.

"If you hadn't raised me all these years," she said with a sneer, "I would've told Mom to kick you out a long time ago."

Her words didn't stop there.

"You think you're special? If you weren't my dad's brother, do you really think you would've had a chance with my mom?"

I stared at the two of them—one tall, one small. They looked so alike in that moment, united in contempt. Ten years ago, I had stood in front of this same woman, vowing to take care of her and the child she bore. Ten years ago, I had held a squalling infant in my arms, promising to raise her as my own.

I had given everything. Every opportunity. Every ambition. I missed my chance at the top research institute overseas. I gave up my career, my future, my life—because my brother ran.

He ran and I stayed.

Now, the baby who once cried in my arms stood before me, strong enough to hate me to my face. And the woman I had protected all these years could barely hide her revulsion.

Ten whole years had passed in the blink of an eye—and in a single moment, it was as if they had never happened.

My throat tightened. I blinked quickly, pushing back the sting rising behind my eyes. My voice came out rough, like it had been scraped raw.

"Sara," I said softly, "let's get a divorce."

She froze. For a second, I thought she hadn't heard me. Then her face contorted like someone had slapped her.

Before she could speak, Elise cut in sharply.

"Uncle Oliver! Is it really that hard for you to accept my dad?" she snapped. "He's not even back yet and you're already threatening to divorce my mom?"

She wasn't finished.

"Let me tell you something—no matter what you do, you'll never be half the man my dad is! Everything you've done these past ten years? It just makes you more pathetic!"

Her words were sharper than her mother's. Sara's betrayal stung, but Elise's rejection carved straight through bone. I had raised her. I had fed her, taught her, stayed up all night when she had nightmares. And now?

Before Francis even set foot back in this house, I had already become nothing.

My vision blurred again and I could barely steady my breath.

My voice, hoarse and quiet, came out once more.