chapter 1

On my birthday, my eleven-year-old son used his dad's phone to post something online.

"Happy 15th anniversary to Mom and Dad. I love you both!"

In the video, the bed was covered in rose petals shaped like hearts. It looked super romantic.

My husband was standing at the end of the bed, handing a gift to his first love.

I knew the logo on the box right away. It was from a fancy lingerie brand from overseas.

So that was why they blocked me. They did not want me ruining their little intimate moment.

I blew out the candles on my birthday cake and sent a message to my husband.

"George, I agree to the divorce."

Just a few seconds later, he called me.

Usually when I texted him, all I ever got back were short replies like "yeah," "okay," or "sure."

Yet, this time, for the first time ever, George Finnegan actually called.

"Jess, what are you doing now? Aren't you tired of always playing games?"

I held back the urge to explain and kept my voice steady.

"I am tired. That's why we should get divorced, so you won't have to deal with me anymore."

He went quiet for two seconds, then said with a cold laugh.

"Lucas is the future heir of the Finnegans. A mom like you isn't good enough for him."

And then I heard a voice I knew too well on the other end of the line. "Ms. White, can I call you Mom now?"

His voice was just like his dad—cold and full of pride.

If my son, Lucas Finnegan, had refused to call me Mom before, I probably would have hugged him and cried until I could not breathe.

Now, all I could think was how ridiculous it all was.

I let out a breath and said coldly, "I don't want custody. Just come back soon and sign the papers."

Then I hung up and started packing.

For twelve years, I had treated this place like home.

Like a bird slowly building a nest, I would fill it with things the father and son liked—along with my own hopes.

Now, looking around at all the stuff I had gathered, I only took a few sets of clothes with me.

Everything else I stuffed into storage boxes and told the housekeeper to throw them out.

So, this was what letting go meant ...

It was better to let go of people or things that no longer mattered.

I was just about to leave with my suitcase when the front door slammed open. George and Lucas were back, both clearly furious.

George threw his coat aside and shouted, "You just had to ruin our anniversary, didn't you? What's your problem?"

I did not want to argue, so I calmly said, "Sign the divorce papers on the table. And don't forget to go to the courthouse in a month."

Then I turned and walked out, not even looking back.

Lucas shouted after me, "Take these with you! I don't want these lame clothes anymore!"

I glanced at the pile he had tossed out.

I had made every single piece of those clothes by hand. Every time the seasons changed, Lucas would get itchy rashes.

The doctor said soft cotton clothes would help, so I started sewing him two new sets every month.

When I did not finish on time, I stayed up all night, working until my eyes blurred and my vision nearly failed.

Back then, every time he got a new set, he would wear it right away, smiling so big and telling everyone that his mother made them.

However, ever since Jasmine White came back and told him they were cheap and embarrassing, he stopped wearing them.

He shoved them into the back of his closet and only wore the "designer brands" Jasmine picked out to show off his status as the Finnegans' golden boy.

When I did not say anything, Lucas yelled again, "Hey! I'm talking to you! Didn't you hear me?"

I still ignored him. I turned to the housekeeper and said, "Please toss those too. Or donate them to kids in the mountains. Whatever works."

Then I left the Finnegans' mansion and headed straight for where I used to live.

I had not been there in years. Now, it was quiet and empty—just scattered leaves and layers of dust.