On a typhoon day, my husband rang our son at school out of the blue, craving oranges, and told him to grab some.

Our boy battled the gale and downpour to fetch the oranges, but got nailed by a falling tree on route.

By the time I got wind of it and dashed to the hospital, he was gasping his final breaths.

"Dad craved oranges, but I messed up. Sorry..."

He couldn't get the words out before he slipped away, still clutching the shattered oranges.

Tears streaming, I blew up my husband's phone till he finally answered. His first words? "Which part of your body is super sensitive?"

With laughter echoing from his end, I was shaking with rage. I blurted out, "Alexander, you loathe oranges! Why'd you send our son?"

His old flame's tearful voice cracked through. "Claire, don't rag on Alex. I flunked a dare, and he had your boy run the errand to save my hide. Blame me, okay?"

Drying my eyes, I shot back frostily, "Tell your boy he’d better come home and sign these divorce papers."

Alexander was all sweet nothings to Vivian, then snapped at me, "Divorce’s fine, but I’m keeping the kid."

Like a zombie, I dragged myself around, sorting the funeral solo.

For three whole days, Alexander might as well have been off-planet, not a peep from him.

Wrapped up in Vivian, he’d totally spaced on us.

"This dump’s a pigsty! Clean it up, will you?" He barked as he stormed back in after three days.

Swapping his shoes, he casually swiped a finger over the table, scowling at the dust.

Muttering his orders, he strutted off to the shower.

With his germ phobia, Alexander’s pad was off-limits to outsiders. To keep him cozy, I’d been the queen of clean for a decade—no days off.

But his nagging now? I tuned it out, numb.

Stepping out of the shower, he found me on the sofa, stone-faced.

He studied my puffy, red eyes and frowned, "Still stewing over that silly game? It’s peanuts, isn’t it?"

Fuming, I fired back, "Peanuts? You think sending our kid into a storm for your least favorite snack is peanuts?"

Those peanuts got him killed!

My heart tore up, thinking how our boy blamed himself for those smashed oranges right till the end.

Catching my sudden outburst, Alexander looked taken aback and offered, "He mad? No biggie. I’ll smooth things over next holiday. He’s always been a daddy’s boy—he’ll come around."

He chucked a fancy gift box at me.

"Check this out, see if it’s your style."

Casting a glance at the box, I was certain that Inside was a necklace.

"Picked it out just for you," he claimed.

But the box had been tampered with.

If my memory served right, this necklace had made a cameo in Vivian’s socials two days back.

Her post read: "He said only the finest for me," as she flaunted it."

She smiled in the selfie, mirroring the diamond necklace reflecting bright sunshine.

But there it was in her trash in the background—a rejected gift.

The same necklace Alexander gave to me.

What a joke.

He was palming off Vivian’s castoffs on me.

I barely glanced at it and calmly asked, "So, when’s this divorce happening?"

Alexander’s mood soured, "Claire, enough already!"

"Fine, but the kid’s mine. You'll have to hash it out with him yourself!"

He stormed off to the bedroom, slamming the door.

That’s Alexander all over—every fight ends with a bang and the silent treatment, no matter who's winning.

I’d always groveled, mending fences. Not this time.

But not this time.

I whipped out the prepped divorce papers from the drawer, signed off briskly, and marched out with my suitcase.

The first time I met Alexander was in the women's restroom at the university library.

Back then, stalls didn’t have doors.

I had just dropped my pants and squatted down when Alexander barreled in, stopping dead in his tracks.

I screamed instinctively, startled out of my wits.

He bolted, muttering about being in the wrong place.

Outside, he was pacing by the door, waiting for me. showering me with apologies.

She showered me with sincere apologies.

Tears welled up as I shot back, "Apologies won’t unsee what you’ve seen."

He rubbed the back of his neck, then pledged with conviction, "I’ll make it right."

Sobbing, I retorted, "And how do you plan to fix this? It’s unforgivable."

Gently, he wiped my tears and promised, "Post-grad, you and I are getting married."

Then he was gone.

Watching him go, I was convinced I’d encountered a full-blown nutcase.

That was the last I saw of him until graduation.

A typhoon was brewing that day. My folks were anxious and came to fetch me.

But they never made it—they were killed in a crash.

I clung to their lifeless bodies, weeping until I blacked out.

On the day I laid them to rest, the heavens opened up, and I knelt there drenched.

My tears mingled with the relentless rain, the greatest pain putting its weight on me.

Suddenly orphaned, despair swallowed me and light in my world whole.

Drowning in sorrow and helplessness, the will to go on just evaporated.

Just then, a black umbrella cropped up, shielding me from the downpour.

Alexander stood there, a pained expression on his face, "Marry me, and I’ll look after you forever."

I snapped back, not missing a beat, "Don’t do this out of guilt."

“It’s not guilt,” he pressed on.

He locked eyes with me, sincerity in his voice, "From that day in the restroom, I couldn’t look away. I watched over you all through college. This isn’t some fleeting thing."

"I want to build a home with you, to be your shelter from any storm, to spend all my days with you. Marry me, will you?"

His tone was gentle, yet there was an undeniable resolve that reached out to my shattered spirit.

It sparked a sliver of hope in my desperate heart.

Dazed, I nodded, and we got married later.

Alexander turned out to be the caring type, showering me with love and attention.

Under his devoted wing, we welcomed our son into the world.

The first time he held our boy, he was overcome, vowing to be our rock so that our son could thrive and I could lean on him without worry.

He really stepped up, being everything to us.

No matter the chaos at work, he was there for our boy—feeding, changing, bathing, and walking our son.

Once, he slipped, and our little guy took a nasty fall, sprouting a huge bump. Gutted, Alexander smacked himself.

He swore it wouldn’t happen again and promised better days for our son.

But when Vivian came back to town, everything changed.

She was his old flame. They two shared a long history.

Her return yanked his full attention and love away from us.

"Vivian’s back—I’m tied up for a few days."

"Vivian’s under the weather—I’m taking her meds. You two have fun without me on his birthday."

"Vivian can’t be alone right now—she needs me. Try to understand..."

Any call from Vivian no matter when the time was and where he was, and he’d drop everything and go to her place.

Our family suddenly played second fiddle to him.

If I dared to question him, I was the villain.

Night after night, I lay awake, wrestling with sadness.

But for our son’s sake, for the family, and because of my undying love for Alexander, I kept tolerating him.

I figured as long as I could hold down the fort quietly, our son would have a happy, secure life.

How wrong I was.

My patience only seemed to license Alexander’s neglect, culminating in that reckless demand for a silly game during a typhoon.

Knowing full well how I lost my parents, how could he risk our son the same way?

How could he be so heartless?

My heart is heavy, my spirit crushed, and I feel utterly abandoned.

As we said goodbye to our son in the flames, my love for Alexander turned to dust.

Four days after I moved back into my parents' old place, I chose the cemetery for my son.

I was about to take my son's urn for burial when I opened the door to Alexander's stern face.

Vivian was there too, flanked by several bodyguards.

As soon as Alexander entered, he scanned the place, then zeroed in on me, demanding, "Where's our son?"

I clutched the urn wrapped in black cloth and rasped, "Looking for him now? Bit late, don't you think?"

His face darkened, and anger flashed in his eyes. "I’ve been calling non-stop, checked the school. I can't find him. Where are you hiding him?"

Confused, I shot back, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means! He’s just a kid and he’s pulling stunts like this? You're his mom!"

"He took Vivian's stockings!" His tone was sharp, his face livid.

My heart, already numb, twisted in pain at his words.

I had thought Alexander was here to apologize and make amends, realizing he’d gone too far with that stupid game. Maybe even feeling guilty about his son's death.

But no, he was here to confront his son over Vivian.

What a terrible father!

It wasn’t enough that he led to his son's death, now he was slinging mud too.

I faced him, icy, "Defend Vivian if you want, but keep your son out of your mess."

Alexander thrust his phone at me, "See for yourself."

The screen showed a surveillance clip: a boy high schooler sneaked into Vivian's place.

Minutes later, he left with something tucked under his arm.

This boy extremely resembled my son in profile, build and dress.

After the video, Vivian eyed me warily, her voice soft but cutting, "After your son sneaked over yesterday, some of my stockings vanished. Claire, don’t you see your boy has such kinks? Or have you always turned a blind eye, letting him get away with it?"

Her voice was low, yet words like daggers, "Claire, hand over your son now. He needs to learn his lesson today!"

It was clear Alexander had made up his mind: his son was a thief.

I looked at him, heartbroken, "Alexander, he’s your flesh and blood! Don’t you know your own son? Would he really steal?"

His expression softened, like he was giving thoughts on what I had said.

But then Vivian piped up, "I wish it wasn't your boy, but I bumped into him outside my place yesterday. He said he was looking for his dad, but the way he eyed me was... creepy."

"What kind of mother are you? How can you form him that way and defend him after that?"

Alexander's brief flicker of doubt hardened back into a cold glare.

With anger, he barked, "Bring our son out now. He can’t hide forever."

Vivian was lying. My son had been dead for a week. How could she have seen him yesterday?

But Alexander believed her.

Over the years, his son had been nothing but well-mannered and loving, especially to Alexander.

Yet, Alexander was blind to all that, his eyes only for Vivian.

Her casual lies were enough for him to dismiss everything good his son had ever done.

How tragic.

His son had longed for his father to the end.

In that moment, my heart ached for my lost son.

Alexander was completely under Vivian's spell, deaf to anything I'd say.

Enough.

I was done wasting time and words. I brushed past Alexander and headed out.

Vivian chased after me, blocking my path, "It’s just some stockings, Claire, but you’re failing him as a mother. You have to guide him when he makes mistakes and needs your help instead of defending him. You want to watch him spiral down?"

I glared at her, "Vivian, play your games, but leave my son out of your climb."

"You know the truth about the stockings. This is all for Alexander. You want to be with him. Well, I’ve signed the divorce papers. Once he signs, you’re free to have him."

I walked past her and kept going.

But she persisted, "Claire, stop twisting things. Why the rush? Feeling guilty? What’s in that black cloth? My stockings?"

She lunged and yanked the urn from me without any hesitation.

Although she seemed weak, she had all the might to yank what I was holding.

Caught off guard, I watched in horror as the urn crashed to the ground.

It scattered the ashes.

The light glinted off the pale dust, blinding me.

Rage started burning in my chest and consumed me, my ears buzzing.

"I thought it was my stockings your son has stolen, it’s just some powders..."

Vivian sneered.

SMACK!

Before she finished, I slapped her hard in the face.

"How dare you!"

she gasped in shock, eyes widen at me.

"I’ll kill you too!"

I lunged at her, fueled by fury.

My son was gone because of her games with Alexander.

Now she’d desecrated his remains.

I couldn’t bear it.

"Stop her!"

Alexander commanded.

Instantly, two bodyguards grabbed me, pinning me down.

I was immobilized.

Vivian clung to Alexander, playing the victim, "Alex, I was only trying to set your son straight. Is that so wrong? I know you love Claire, but you can’t let her walk all over us."

Near tears, she played her part well.

Alexander’s voice was gentle yet pained as he consoled her, "Vivian, don’t worry. I’ll sort this out."

Then he turned to me with a fierce look, "Claire, you’ve crossed the line. For a box of ashes, you attack Vivian?"

"Apologize to her now!"