Paisley winced as Dominick's grip on her wrist suddenly tightened, a sharp pain shooting through her. "Paisley, who is he?" His voice sliced through the tension in the room, an icy fire smoldering in his gaze. "The one who called you just now—was it him?" The air around them thickened with unspoken anger, Dominick's eyes narrowing as if trying to uncover every layer of her soul. How could she have referred to someone else as “darling”? A term of affection she'd never offered him in their four years of marriage. As the atmosphere crackled, Paisley collected herself and replied defiantly, her voice steady yet low. "None of your business." With a sudden pull, she wrenched her wrist free from his grasp, summoning all the strength she had. Dominick's frown deepened, a step forward on the tip of his tongue, but his words were swallowed by the cheery interruption that was Marissa. "Dom, so this is where you've been." Her voice resonated like a soft melody, almost too cheerful against the tension. She glided alongside Dominick with effortless poise, adorned in a stunning, meticulously tailored outfit that seemed to radiate sophistication. Her long hair swept behind her, dancing lightly as she moved. "My mother was thrilled to see you earlier," Marissa continued, a playful glint in her eyes. "She was slightly upset, suggesting I should take better care of you, especially since you came to the hospital even when you’re always so swamped." A lilting laugh escaped her lips as she stepped closer to him. "Honestly, I’m the one who’s been wronged here. You came on your own, so you’ll explain it to Mom next time, alright?" It was only then that Marissa's gaze slid over to Paisley, her smile morphing into one that glimmered like fresh paint—shiny but devoid of depth. "Ms. Sutton? You’re back?" The cheerfulness dripped from her smile, a facade so pristine that Paisley almost felt obliged to believe it. But the way Marissa's eyes scrutinized her, sizing her up since entering the room, was a telltale sign of the insincerity behind that polished smile. Boredom flooded over Paisley. There was no point in listening to Marissa's rehearsed charm any longer. With a decisive turn, she strode away, her heels echoing a sharp rhythm against the floor as she made her way to the car, eager to escape the scene. ***** Later, as evening descended on the living room, the atmosphere thickened with unuttered thoughts. Emery handed Paisley a steaming cup of milk, the gentle curl of steam rising softly into the air. "So, you haven't cleared things up with him?" Emery, a friend Paisley had met in Brightmoor, was known for her keen eye for detail and even sharper opinions. She had joined Paisley in Harrowfell, establishing a custom boutique that quickly gained a reputation. Paisley cradled the cup, letting the warm liquid envelop her chilly fingers. "No. I didn’t explain anything." A wave of exasperation washed across Emery's face, her brows knitting together. "Why not?" The corner of Paisley’s mouth curled into a wry smile, bitter memories flickering beneath. "We’re divorced. We have nothing to do with each other anymore. There’s no need for explanations." Her voice darkened slightly, tinged with a dry humor. "Besides, he’s about to remarry." "Remarry?" Emery's eyes widened in disbelief. "With that... what's the name... that bitch?" "The bitch" was a nickname Emery often used for Marissa, one Paisley had once attempted to correct. But with the truth hanging heavy in the air—that her marriage had failed due to both their shortcomings—Paisley eventually conceded to the nickname. Deep down, a wishful sting of resentment still festered, reminding her how complicated the dissolution truly was. "Yeah, that's her." Paisley continued sipping her milk, feigning indifference while her thoughts swirled like autumn leaves caught in a whirlwind. Emery, shaking her head in disbelief, exclaimed, "You’re like one of those heroines from those over-the-top romance novels—silent as a stone, driving everyone crazy." A chuckle escaped Paisley's lips. "You're mistaken. In those novels, I'm not the heroine. Dominick's fiancée plays the lead." That thought painted a picture in her mind, positioning her as the venomous second lead, returning after four years, wrapped in the cloak of motherhood—attempting to reclaim a fractured relationship, stirring tensions along the way. She could see it: Marissa’s disdainful gaze, deeming her a villainous figure trying to disrupt the lives of Dominick and her child. The cliche spun out in her mind like an old film; in the end, the hero would always choose the true love, while she, the villain, would be cast aside, left with nothing but echoes of a past life. Yet, the role did not entice her. She craved nothing more than to keep her distance from Dominick, who was now little more than a stale loaf of bread—long past its expiration date. The thought of him twisted her insides with disappointment and disdain. "By the way," Emery said, steering the conversation away, "did you see your ex-husband today? And what about your... ungrateful son?" The mention of Grayson, her little boy, struck a chord, causing a tiny crack in her steady demeanor. He was an aching void in her heart, a constant reminder of the past. Four years had passed since she last saw him; the boy she left behind at just three years old was now seven. She often wondered about him, the shape he had taken as he grew under someone else’s wing. Before she could delve deeper into her thoughts, a soft, familiar voice interrupted her reverie. "Mommy." In an exhilarating rush, Serena, her youngest daughter, dashed into her embrace. Paisley’s heart melted instantly as she scooped the child into her arms. The warmth that enveloped her from the soft, wet bundle brought a smile to her face. “Why didn’t you dry your hair before coming out? What if you catch a cold?” she chided gently, already reaching for the towel handed by Maria, their loyal nanny of many years. Maria chuckled softly, a warm gleam in her eye. “Rena heard your voice and simply couldn’t wait. She missed you so much and ran right out to see you, no matter the risk.” Paisley chuckled, understanding and appreciative of Maria’s unwavering support. Her daughter, like her mother, was a little ball of stubbornness. Tucked against her mother’s chest, Serena peeked out from under the towel, her big doe eyes brimming with innocence. "Mommy, I was really good today. Can I not go to kindergarten tomorrow?" Those hopeful eyes melted Paisley’s resolve. She wanted nothing more than to say yes, to shield her daughter from the formidable world outside their warm cocoon. But she held firm, reminding herself that Serena was already three years old—old enough for kindergarten. “No, sweetheart. You have to go to kindergarten tomorrow.” Disappointment cast a shadow over Serena’s features, her small lips trembling into a pout as her shoulders sagged slightly. Serena carried the Sutton surname, just like her brother Grayson. She had been born on the cusp of Paisley’s divorce—another connection meant to be hidden from Dominick. Maintaining that boundary had been essential; to mention Serena would only unearth feelings that had been long buried under the weight of grief and turmoil. **** As part of a calculated plan, Paisley had enrolled Serena at an elite institution, a school that uniquely blended kindergarten, preschool, primary, and middle school all under one roof. With its rigorous administration and top-tier faculty, it had taken Emery’s persistent inquiries and connections to secure Serena’s place there. At the entrance, Paisley crouched down to hug Serena tightly as they prepared to say their goodbyes. Today was not just any ordinary day; it marked Serena’s first day of kindergarten and a separation from her mother that felt monumental. Serena's face crumpled, struggling to hold back tears as she whispered, "Mommy, I’ll behave and listen to the teachers. You’ll be the first to pick me up tonight, right?" Pain shot through Paisley’s heart; she wanted to scoop Serena up and whisk her away from the outside world. But she had to resist. Though it should have been a moment of joy, the thought of letting go felt like a betrayal of a mother’s instinct to protect her child. The kindergarten teacher, well-versed in the heart-wrenching goodbyes that punctuated new beginnings, didn’t rush them. She gave Paisley and Serena the time they needed. Nearby, a car rolled to a stop, its engine purring softly as Grayson sat within, lost in thought. "Sonny, what are you looking at?" Stella Prescott, a nearby little girl with pigtails, leaned in, intrigued. Her eyes widened as she followed his gaze to the tender goodbye Paisley was sharing with Serena, the mother’s voice laced with a bittersweet sadness. Stella’s innocent curiosity prompted a reaction from Grayson. His face darkened, growing hard and hostile. "Don't talk about that vile woman. She doesn’t deserve to be my mother. I would never, ever miss her." Stella blinked in surprise, momentarily intimidated by the intensity radiating off Grayson. After a brief moment's pause, she soothed him lightly, "You're right, Sonny. A vile woman like that doesn’t deserve to be your mom." She studied him carefully, her voice softening. "But don’t worry. When Aunt Marissa marries Dominick, she’ll be your new mommy. She loves you so much. She’ll be your real mommy then." Grayson’s expression thawed slightly at her words, although the storm in his eyes hadn’t completely dissipated. “Yeah, if Marissa could be my mom, that would be great.” The notion dabbled in his young mind, a flicker of hope swirling inside him—a fragile comfort that perhaps, just perhaps, Marissa could fill the void left by someone who had drifted away.