When he spoke again, there was a reluctant hint of approval.

“Not a bad match. I’ll wear it to tonight’s dinner.”

After a pause, he added, “Send me your address; I’ll have the anniversary jewelry delivered to you.”

I refused, saying, “No need, my taste is different from Michelle’s.”

Michelle was his first love. Since returning from abroad, she’d become his personal secretary, managing everything from his schedule to gift-giving.

At the mention of Michelle, his tone turned icy. “Who do you think you are, daring to compare yourself to her?”

I laughed softly, “You’re right. I’m not worthy, which is why I don’t want you wasting good things on me.”

Quincy was momentarily speechless.

Looking at the clock on the wall, I continued, “Please have Michelle arrange a date to go to the civil affairs bureau. Just text me the date, no need to call.”

As I was about to hang up, he changed the topic. “Our son is here. He wants to say a few words to you.”

Before Mason could speak, I ended the call, just as swiftly as he’d blocked me that day.

Putting down the phone, I held my grandmother’s hand and joined her in watching an old opera.

A week flew by. While waiting for a friend at a hotel salon, I received a call from an unfamiliar number. It was Mason’s school principal.

He said that Mason had gotten into a fight. The conflict started when a classmate asked about his parents’ divorce, believing rumors.

I replied, “It’s no rumor; his father and I are indeed divorced. I don’t have custody, so please contact his father.”

After hearing this, the principal awkwardly explained that Mason had only provided my contact number.

So, I asked him to put the phone on speaker.

In front of the injured student and their parents, I said to Mason, “You were wrong for hitting someone. Admit your mistake—wasn’t this always you and your father’s principle?

Also, from now on, don’t call me for anything. Understand that we no longer have any relationship.”

Then I hung up, set my phone to Do Not Disturb and waved at my best friend Helen and her daughter.

When I was pregnant with Mason, I dreamed of having a daughter. Even though that didn’t happen, I still treated Mason like a treasure, raising him wholeheartedly.

Before he turned six, Mason would plant trees in the garden for the cartoon cats who “passed away” and even save little red flowers from preschool to surprise me.

Later, as Quincy took Mason to visit the family estate more often, my son stopped crying or smiling by the age of eight.

He even started looking down on Grandma’s old red-brick home, saying to me, “Did you grow up in a place like this? No wonder Grandma never respects you.”

Just then, Helen’s daughter fed me a piece of cheesecake, snapping me out of my thoughts.

Seeing me eat, Helen said, “Now you owe your goddaughter a favor. You’ll have to watch her compete now.”

Putting my arm around Cassie’s shoulders, I smiled, “Don’t worry, godmother will definitely be there.”

A month later, on a Friday, I unexpectedly ran into Quincy on the school field. Beside him was Michelle, clinging to his arm. She greeted me warmly, “Shannon, long time no see. Mason didn’t mention you’d be here.”

Mason, captain of the school’s sprint club, was sure to compete today. But I wasn’t there for him.

Ignoring Michelle, I headed straight for the stands. Noticing this, Quincy let go of Michelle and followed me quickly, mocking me, “Shannon, didn’t you say you wanted to cut ties with Mason? So why come here and make a fool of yourself?”

I didn’t want to waste words on him and simply replied, “Please don’t stand with me. I don’t want people to misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand what?”

“Misunderstand that we’re still a couple.”

He was taken aback and then his face turned dark. “Shannon, I advise you to know when to stop.”

I didn’t understand what he meant. At that moment, I was just focused on waving excitedly at Cassie, who stood on the track about five meters away from Mason. I knew he’d seen me. Mistaking my wave for him, he wore an expression of disgust.

The starting gun fired and both boys and girls began to race. Cassie ran unexpectedly fast, but halfway through, Mason, usually a top competitor, stumbled and fell.

As soon as the race ended, Quincy and I rushed toward the track. He beat me by a few steps, immediately reaching Mason and asking the school nurse about his injuries. Before the nurse could answer, Quincy motioned for her to wait, looking over at me, standing a few feet away, checking my phone.

“Shannon, what are you doing standing there dawdling? Don’t you see your son is hurt?”

Quincy’s scolding drew the attention of students and teachers around us. I put down my phone and looked indifferently at Mason, whose lips were pale.

His knees were scraped and bloody, his left ankle twisted at an odd angle. He reached out to me instinctively, his eyes seeking comfort, but I found it laughable. What did this have to do with me?

Last year, he’d written in his essay that he’d grown up and no longer needed a “useless stay-at-home mom who can’t even play a single piano piece.”

Ignoring him entirely, I walked over to Cassie and hugged her with a bright smile. “Cassie, you were amazing! Congratulations on winning silver! Come on, sweetheart, your mom’s car is at the gate and she’s taking us to eat seafood.”

Feeling light and cheerful, I walked out of the school. I had just gotten into the car when Quincy called. I didn’t plan to answer until he texted, [Let’s discuss the divorce.]

So, after arriving at the restaurant, I told Helen to go in with her daughter, promising I’d join them soon.

For the first time in two months, I called Quincy. The phone barely rang before his frustrated voice came through.

“Shannon, where are you?”

“It doesn’t matter where I am. Just tell me when you’re available to go to the civil affairs bureau.”

There was a pause before he spoke again, his tone significantly softened. “Come to the hospital first. Mason’s injuries are serious and he might not be able to compete again. The doctor has things to discuss with us.”

“Oh, if he can’t compete, he can’t compete. You didn’t need to tell me that.”

Incredulous, he said, “Shannon, how can you say that? Aren’t you still Mason’s mother?”

Leaning back into the seat cushion, I replied calmly, “Quincy, you were the one who called him into the study and had him tell me that after the divorce, he didn’t want to live with an outsider. Why are you now acting like I abandoned him? Don’t you find it absurd?”

The line fell silent for a long time, so long that I thought he was deliberately leaving me hanging. Then he spoke again.