Chapter 3

My flight was scheduled to depart the next morning at ten o'clock.

As usual, Aaron had spent the night at the hospital with Sylvia and hadn't come home.

At dawn, I quietly pulled my neatly packed suitcase to the door, ready to leave.

But as I passed by Lucas's room, my steps involuntarily slowed.

I had gone into labor early with him. The birth was unexpected and difficult, and he'd been frail ever since.

To ensure he received the best care, I had always taken care of him personally—his meals, his schooling, his routines. I never hired a nanny or a housekeeper. Not once.

After a moment of hesitation, I set the suitcase down and decided to see him one last time before I left.

Lucas didn't just look like his father; he'd inherited the same cold, distant temperament too.

When I entered the room, he glanced up from his desk and greeted me with a casual, "Morning, Mom," before going right back to the drawing he was working on.

I looked at his face—so much like Aaron's—and said softly, "Lucas, Mom is leaving now. Please take care of yourself."

He didn't even lift his head. "Okay," he mumbled absently.

I tilted my head slightly and saw what he was drawing: a scene from yesterday, with Sylvia and Aaron holding his hands as they walked through the amusement park.

A sharp pain tugged at my chest.

I remembered a video Sylvia had once posted to Instagram. In it, Lucas sat in her lap, happily munching cotton candy, his words muffled through his sugary grin, "I just love being with Sylvia! I can eat whatever I want and stay up watching TV all night!

"Not like Mom. She nags about everything! She's always telling me to sleep early, eat my fruits and veggies!"

Sylvia had laughed triumphantly and pressed him further, "Then who do you like more, your Mommy or me?"

"Of course, I like you more! If Mom were even half as gentle as you, I'd be so happy!"

Compared to strict, disciplined me, five-year-old Lucas clearly preferred Sylvia—the one who spoiled him, indulged him, and never set a single rule.

I had believed that raising him carefully, shielding him from illness, helping him grow stronger… was a good thing.

But instead, it only seemed to push him further away from me.

I watched him silently, his hand still focused on sketching Sylvia's smiling face, and felt my eyes begin to burn. I blinked, willing the heat away.

Just as I turned to leave, Lucas suddenly called out, "Mom."

I looked back.

He was staring straight into my eyes, his expression serious.

"Mom once said, whatever Lucas loves, Mom will love too. I really like Sylvia… so you'll like her too, right?"

I froze.

The final sliver of hope I had held onto quietly… disappeared completely.

I closed my eyes. Without a word, I wiped away the tears no one else had seen and forced a small smile.

"You always said you wanted to stay by Sylvia's side and protect her, didn't you? Starting today, you and your dad can stay with her. Protect her, just like you wished."

With that, I no longer cared whether he understood me or not.

I didn't look back at his puzzled expression.

I picked up my suitcase, walked out of the villa without turning my head, and made my way to the airport.

Just before boarding my flight to a foreign country—one where no one knew my name—I dropped my phone into the airport trash bin, along with every memory I had of Aaron and Lucas.

And as the plane lifted into the sky, I was free.