Chapter 2

The drive from Johnson Mansion to Eternal Rest Cemetery wasn't far, but today it felt endlessly long.

I sat in the back seat, watching the buildings of Amber District fade into the distance, giving way to golden-hued mountain forests.

My cheek still stung.

After that slap last night, Harper had been livid—shrieking, she fetched several Johnson relatives.

They swarmed around me, chattering all at once, berating me for being "disrespectful" and "ungrateful."

Amid the chaos, hands pushed and pulled at me.

Fingernails scraped my cheek, and my chin slammed into the coffee table's edge, leaving a purple bruise.

Michael just stood there, watching coldly.

When I fell to the floor, he didn't even reach out to help me up.

"Enough." Finally, Michael's father Robert Johnson arrived, slamming his cane hard against the floor. "This is Andrew's funeral. Is this any way to behave?"

But even Robert's sharp rebuke offered no warmth.

Now, sitting in this black car heading to the cemetery, I felt like a hollow shell.

Michael sat beside me, yet the distance between us might as well have been the whole of Emerald City.

Suddenly, his phone rang.

I glimpsed the name on the screen—Sophia.

Now? On our way to bury Andrew?

"It's me," Michael answered anyway.

"Give me a few more days. Head back first. I'll come find you once I'm finished here."

I stared fixed at the raindrops on the window, trying to tune out their conversation.

But every word cut through my eardrums like shards of steel.

"Of course. What I promised you won't change."

Michael's voice softened, warm with a tenderness I'd never heard before. "Once this is all over, we can finally..."

My nails dug into my palms, but my body was too numb to feel the pain.

On the way to his son's funeral, he wasn't consumed by grief or guilt—only eager to wrap things up so he could rush back to his lover.

Suddenly, Michael held the phone out to me. "Sophia wants to talk to you."

I froze.

Once, on a rainy day like this, after Sophia called, Michael had snapped, "She's not with me. I'll video call you if you don't believe me."

Then he'd thrown me out of the car.

That day, I walked through the snow for two hours to get home, my hands and feet numb with cold.

When Andrew saw me, he'd burst into tears. "Mommy, are you leaving me?"

I'd held him tight, my heart shattering as I promised, "Mommy will never leave you, Andrew."

Now Andrew was gone, and Michael no longer had to pretend.

Against my better judgment, I took the phone.

"Isabella?" Sophia's voice came through, soft and sweet, laced with the refined lilt of an Emerald City socialite.

"Yes."

"I heard about your loss. Are you alright?" Her tone dripped with feigned concern, but I could hear the triumph beneath it.

I closed my eyes, remembering the first time I'd met Sophia. She'd worn a white dress, and Michael—sitting right beside me—hadn't been able to take his eyes off her.

"Without the child, what's keeping you in the Johnson family?" Sophia's words were gentle, yet they cut like a knife.

I opened my eyes, gazing at the sparse buildings passing by outside the window. A strange, desperate sense of relief washed over me.

"I'm giving him back to you."

Sophia sounded taken aback, pausing before asking, "What?"

"Michael." My voice was calm, almost detached—unrecognizable even to myself. "I'm giving him back. Though I suppose he was always yours to begin with."

Silence fell over the car.

Michael whipped his head around, shock flaring in his eyes.

"Isabella, you..." Sophia's voice trembled, laced with panic.

She'd probably called just to gloat, never expecting me to surrender so easily.

Michael snatched the phone away and hung up.

"What nonsense are you spouting to Sophia?" His voice was sharp with anger.

I turned to look at him—the man I'd once loved deeply, the man Andrew had called "Daddy" for five years.

"I'm not spouting nonsense," I said, my voice steady. "I'm just telling the truth."

Michael's expression darkened, conflicted. "Isabella, don't act on impulse."

Impulse?

A bitter laugh bubbled up inside me.

From the day Andrew was born until now, when hadn't I swallowed my pride? When hadn't I compromised?

And now he dared to call me impulsive?

The car glided through the gates of Eternal Rest Cemetery.

It was one of Emerald City's oldest cemeteries, with cherry trees lining the cobblestone path.

Though it was autumn, I could almost picture how beautiful it would be in spring—blossoms floating in the breeze.

Cherry blossoms had been Andrew's favorite.

He'd always ask, "Mommy, are cherry blossoms the prettiest flowers in the world?"

I'd always smile and nod. "Yes, because they're your favorite."

Now my little boy would sleep forever beneath these cherry trees.

In the light drizzle, we reached Andrew's grave.

The headstone was black granite, etched with "Andrew's Final Rest."

Embedded in it was a photo of Andrew taken when he was three—dressed in a tiny suit, grinning brightly, his eyes full of innocence.

I remembered that day clearly. It had been an autumn afternoon, and the photographer had suggested a family portrait.

Andrew and I waited from one o'clock until seven in the evening. Michael never showed up.

Finally, the photographer had sighed impatiently. "Why don't we just take photos of the boy alone?"

Andrew's head drooped, and he whispered, "Mommy, does Daddy not want to take pictures with us?"

I knelt down, smoothing the wrinkles in his suit. "Daddy's very busy, sweetie. We have to be understanding."

Now, staring at that lonely photo on the headstone, my heart felt like it was being torn to pieces.

I'm so sorry, Andrew.

Sorry for letting you endure coldness you never deserved. Sorry for letting you leave this world still longing for a father's love.

I stood before the grave, praying silently:

"If there really is a next life, I hope Andrew is born into a family that loves him deeply—parents who will cherish him, who will never let him feel alone..."

Just then, I watched as Michael walked to the grave and set down a beautifully wrapped box.

It was a racing car building block set.

I froze.

"What's that?"

Michael didn't look at me, his voice low and gruff. "A birthday present for Andrew. He asked me for it once, but I never had the time..."

Dizziness washed over me.

For Andrew's fifth birthday, I'd secretly gone to the toy store and bought the blocks, telling him they were from Daddy.

Andrew had been over the moon, hugging the box tightly. "Mommy, I knew Daddy loved me! I'm gonna call him to say thank you!"

But Michael never answered that call.

Andrew had held the phone for a long time before putting it down, his shoulders slumping. "Daddy must be busy with important work."

Only now did I realize—Andrew had seen through my lie all along.

He'd known the gift wasn't from Daddy, yet he'd smiled and thanked me anyway. He'd even wanted to call his father, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, Daddy cared.

That five-year-old boy had faced the cruelty of the adult world with nothing but pure, unshakable kindness.

I collapsed to my knees before the grave, tears pouring down my face, mixing with the rain on the cobblestones.

"Andrew..." My voice cracked, choked with sobs. "I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so, so sorry..."

If only I'd seen Michael for who he really was sooner. If only I'd taken you away from that cold house earlier... would you still be here?

Rain and tears blurred my vision, turning the world into a hazy, gray blur.