Chapter 3

Steve had finally fallen asleep after crying himself tired, his tiny hand still clutching the edge of my blouse even in his dreams.

I stood by the bed for a moment, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I whispered. “But we’re leaving.”

The suitcase lay open on the floor beside me, half-filled with our clothes, Steve’s toys, his storybooks, and the few things that still felt like ours. I was almost done folding the last of his shirts when the sound of the door slamming open made me freeze.

Stephen stood there, his face dark with anger. And before I could even react, he grabbed the suitcase and flung it across the room.

“You’re not leaving.” His voice was low, cold. “And you’re definitely not divorcing me.”

I straightened, clutching the dresser for balance. “Do you really think I’ll stay after everything you’ve done?”

He stepped closer, jaw tightening. “Do you really think I’ll let you take my son away from me?”

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Your son? Don’t make me laugh. Steve may be your blood, but I’m the one who raised him. The court will see that. He’s five, Stephen. He’ll go with his mother.”

His lips curled into a smirk. “You think I’ll give you the chance to divorce me? You won’t win. You can’t. I won’t allow it.”

I crossed my arms, refusing to show fear. “Then we’ll see about that. I’ve already contacted my lawyer.”

For a moment, fury flashed in his eyes, but then, just as suddenly, he softened. He sighed and stepped closer, his voice gentle again—the same tone he always used when he wanted to manipulate me.

“Natasha… come on. Don’t do this. We’ve been through so much together.” His hand brushed my arm. “I’m sorry, okay? I was stressed, I made mistakes. Let’s fix this.”

I didn’t reply.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “What do you want? Tell me. I’ll buy it for you. Jewelry? A car? Just say it, sweetheart.”

“I don’t need anything,” I said quietly, turning away.

“Then stay for Steve,” he said quickly, desperation leaking through his words. “His birthday’s coming up. Do you really want to ruin that for him? Don’t walk away from us like this.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet box. Inside was a diamond necklace—huge, sparkling—and heartbreakingly familiar.

Because Lana had worn the exact same one the night I saw them together.

I looked at it, then at him. “It’s beautiful,” I whispered.

He smiled, relieved. “See? I knew you’d understand. Just rest for now, okay? We’ll celebrate properly tomorrow.”

I nodded slowly, letting him believe the lie.

When he kissed my forehead and left the room, I let out a long breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My hands trembled as I shut the suitcase again. I’d play his game—for now. But soon, he would learn that he couldn’t own me forever.

Minutes later, my phone rang. It was my old professor from the university.

“Natasha?” Her warm voice brought a wave of nostalgia. “I just got off a call with the Amsterdam Art Museum. They’re opening a new exhibit and want you to curate it. It’s a huge project, dear. Would you be interested?”

My heart skipped. Amsterdam—the place I studied, the place I had once dreamed of building a life before all this chaos.

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “Give me two weeks. I’ll come.”

When I hung up, my phone buzzed again. This time, it was my lawyer.

“Miss Natasha, the divorce has been processed. Stephen can’t block it now. And… we found the nurse who assisted during your delivery five years ago.”

My breath caught. “And?”

“She confessed. The records were switched that day. Your biological daughter was sent to an orphanage under the name Grace. We have the address.”

For a moment, the world stood still.

My daughter. Alive.

Tears blurred my vision. “Thank you,” I whispered.

As I hung up, I turned to look at Steve, sleeping peacefully. My heart squeezed painfully.

I loved him. No matter what blood said, I loved him. But I couldn’t let Stephen and Lana take everything from me—not again. If they could take my child away from me once, then they’d feel what it’s like to lose one, too.

I would take Steve with me. Not out of revenge—but justice.

The next day, preparations for Steve’s birthday were in full swing. Balloons lined the halls, tables were filled with sweets and decorations. But something felt… off.

When I asked the event planner about the setup, she hesitated. “Uh, Mrs. Smith, there’s been a change. Miss Lana made some adjustments to the theme and the menu.”

My chest tightened. “Lana?”

Before I could confront anyone, Stephen appeared beside me, all smiles. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I let Lana handle the party. You’ve been so stressed lately—take a break, Natasha. Just relax today.”

Relax? When his mistress was taking everything away from me?

I bit my tongue and forced a smile. “Of course.”

Later, as I moved through the crowd of guests, I overheard their voices from the side hallway.

“He’s my son,” Lana whispered fiercely. “I’ll do everything for him. I don’t want her near us anymore.”

Stephen chuckled. “Patience. Once everything is finalized, she’ll be out of the picture.”

I smiled bitterly. They had no idea.

When the time came for gifts, Lana went first. She presented a huge wrapped box, her expression radiant. Steve’s eyes widened as he unwrapped it—inside was an enormous, expensive toy set.

“Thank you, Auntie Lana!” he said, beaming.

“It’s Mommy Lana,” she corrected sweetly.

My blood boiled, but I stayed composed as it became my turn. “And this one’s from Mommy Natasha,” I said softly, handing Steve a smaller box.

He tore it open—then screamed.

A live mouse leapt out, scurrying across the table.

Steve’s face turned pale, his body shaking. “No! No! Mommy!” he cried.

My heart stopped. “That’s not what I—Steve, baby, it’s okay, there must be a mistake—”

Stephen stormed over, his face red. “What the hell, Natasha? Are you trying to traumatize him? You know he’s terrified of mice!”

“I didn’t—this isn’t the gift I prepared!”

Guests started whispering. Some laughed, others frowned. Someone muttered, “What kind of mother does that?”

I tried to reach for Steve, but he pushed me away, tears streaming down his face. “I hate you, Mommy!” he sobbed, and ran toward Lana’s open arms.