I gripped Allen’s small hand as we stood outside Disneyland, the lights shining brighter than his tired little eyes. This was his fourth birthday, and it was all he wanted—to see the castle, to ride the carousel, to be somewhere magical, even just for tonight. I’d begged Brendon to come, to be here for Allen, but my calls went straight to voicemail. When Allen looked up at me, eyes hopeful, he asked, “Will Daddy be here soon, Mommy?”

I swallowed the knot in my throat, forcing a smile. “Maybe, sweetheart. Let’s have fun for now.”

Allen didn’t need to know that his father, Brendon Green—the powerful, feared man everyone respected—was nowhere to be found on the night his son needed him most. Tonight was about Allen, and I was going to make it as magical as possible. I lifted him into my arms, and we entered the park together.

For hours, I watched Allen’s joy light up with every carousel turn and parade float. His laughter was quiet, but pure, filling my heart with warmth and breaking it all at once. His tiny fingers clung to my arm as fireworks exploded overhead. I held him close, feeling his heartbeat.

But I knew it was almost time. I felt his grip weaken as the night deepened. Just before midnight, he slipped away, his small body still in my arms, his final breath soft and gentle against my cheek. I stayed there, holding him as the world kept moving, and in that moment, my world shattered.

In the days that followed, I arranged the funeral myself, contacting the cemetery, gathering what little I could bear to part with for his burial. I had tried calling Brendon again and again, my desperation turning to anger with each unanswered ring. By the time I laid Allen to rest, the silence from Brendon was deafening.

The morning of the burial, as I stood beside Allen’s small grave, I dialed Brendon’s number one more time. It rang and rang, echoing in the silence of the cemetery, until finally his voicemail picked up.

“Brendon… damn you for not picking up the phone and not coming for your son. I hope… I hope you’ll regret this one day.” I held back tears, trying to keep my composure as I looked down at the small mound of earth that now covered my son. “Goodbye, Brendon,” I whispered, and hung up, knowing I wouldn’t call again.

After the burial, as I drove back to our house, my phone buzzed with a notification. My heart raced, hoping it was Brendon—finally reaching out, offering some explanation, anything to acknowledge our son’s life and death. But when I checked my phone, it wasn’t a message from Brendon. Instead, it was a post from my sister, Karylle.

The photo she’d shared showed her smiling under the city lights, looking carefree and happy. Brendon stood beside her, his arm draped around her shoulders, his gaze warm. My chest tightened as I read the caption: “Thank you, Brendon, for a wonderful night. You always know how to make me feel special.”

A second later, another notification flashed on my screen. It was a message from Karylle herself—a photo attachment. My fingers shook as I opened it. There they were again, smiling against a sparkling backdrop, Brendon looking more relaxed than he ever had with me.

The world went silent. My hands trembled as I stared at the photo, each word a knife twisting deeper. While I’d held our son through his last breaths, Brendon had been out with my own sister.

When I returned home, the silence pressed in on me. The house felt cold, hollow—haunted by the ghost of Allen’s laughter. His toys lay scattered in the corner, untouched since I’d left with him for Disneyland. Every step I took felt heavy, each room a reminder of his presence and now, his absence.

As I stood in the doorway, numb and exhausted, headlights swept across the driveway. I turned to see Brendon’s car pull up. I didn’t move, watching as he got out, and my heart sank as he lifted Karylle from the passenger seat. She wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder as he carried her inside.

They didn’t notice me standing there, not until I spoke.

"Brendon," I said, my voice low, trembling. "Where were you last night?”

He turned to me, his face blank. “Jasmine, I’m not doing this right now.”

I stepped closer, forcing myself to look at him. “I called you. Allen wanted you there. He wanted his father.”

Brendon looked annoyed, not remorseful. “I was busy. You could have handled it. We can always reschedule the trip, Jasmine. Disneyland isn’t going anywhere.”

“Reschedule?” The word fell like a stone between us. I couldn’t believe he’d said it. He didn’t know, didn’t care that Allen’s last wish had gone unfulfilled, that he’d died waiting for his father.

I slapped Brendon, the sharp sound echoing in the room. He staggered, nearly dropping Karylle, and she gasped, clinging to him as if terrified she might fall.

Brendon’s eyes blazed. “What the hell, Jasmine? You could’ve hurt her!”

He didn’t wait for my answer, instead turning his back on me to gently help Karylle onto the couch, his voice soft as he murmured to her. My vision blurred with rage, my hands trembling as I watched him comfort her.

“Of course,” I said, my voice low and bitter. “She’s all you care about, isn’t she?”

Karylle looked up, her lips curling with a smug smile. “Grow up, Jasmine. You’re making a fool of yourself.”

Her words hit hard, making my chest feel tight. I glared at her, something inside me finally snapping. Before I could even think, I stepped forward, locking eyes with her smug expression. “Making a fool of myself?” I hissed. “You walk in here with him and think you can talk to me like that?”

Karylle raised an eyebrow, totally unfazed, and shifted on the couch like I was the one inconveniencing her. “Yes, Jasmine,” she replied, her voice calm, like she was addressing a child. “It’s pathetic. Brendon is just helping me and you’re acting jealous. He doesn’t even love you so why would you?”

Those words did it. Without thinking, I stepped forward and shoved her, hard enough to send her sprawling onto the floor. She gasped, looking up at me.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Brendon snapped, dropping to her side, eyes blazing as he stared me down, practically shielding her with his body, like I was some threat.

“Maybe you should ask yourself that, Brendon,” I said, my voice steady, each word dripping with the bitterness that had been building inside me for years.

Karylle, still on the floor, turned her teary gaze up to him, her voice breaking. “Brendon… I don’t feel safe here,” she whimpered, reaching for his arm, playing the part of the victim like she’d rehearsed it a hundred times.

Brendon’s anger softened as he looked at her, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his whole focus now on her. “I’m sorry,” he murmured gently, each word cutting me like a blade. “I won’t let her do that again.”

I watched him comfort her, and right then, I felt the last bit of my life with him collapse. It hit me, painfully clear—I was truly and completely alone.

The smug look on Karylle’s face didn’t fade for long. With a quick, fierce motion, she shoved me back, her eyes blazing with anger. I staggered but caught myself, eyes narrowing as I took her in. Her supposedly “injured” leg—the one Brendon had been carrying her around for—seemed perfectly fine. She didn’t even flinch.

My heart pounded as I held her gaze, seeing the satisfaction in her eyes as she adjusted her stance, perfectly balanced.

“You’re faking,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re delusional, Jasmine. Maybe you should stop obsessing over every little thing. Brendon has more important things to worry about than your drama.”

My fists clenched at my side as I glanced at Brendon, who still stood beside her. “She’s not injured, Brendon. She’s lying to you. Can’t you see that?”

But he just shook his head. “Jasmine, you need to stop. It’s embarrassing. Karylle has been nothing but patient with you, and all you do is attack her. She is your sister!”

A low laugh escaped me, bitter and cold. “Patient? Sister?” I repeated. “You think she’s the patient one here? While I was holding Allen’s hand last night, while he was asking for his father, she was out with you, pretending to be helpless. Is that what a sister is supposed to do?”

Karylle lifted her chin, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh, don’t try to turn this around on me, Jasmine. I’ve seen the way you use Allen’s illness to get Brendon’s attention. It’s disgusting.”

The accusation hung in the air, sharp and cutting. I felt my blood go cold, the disbelief settling in as I stared at her. “Excuse me?”

She shrugged. “It’s pathetic, really,” she continued. “The way you cling to him, pulling the sympathy card whenever you feel him slipping away. Allen’s illness, your little sob stories—it’s all part of your act.”

The rage in me twisted into something deeper, darker, something beyond the pain I’d been holding in. “How dare you. How dare you even speak his name.”

Brendon’s face tightened with discomfort, but he said nothing, just stood there between us, as if this were some kind of minor spat. The weight of it hit me all at once—he was never going to see the truth, never going to put anyone above her, no matter what she said or did.

“Jasmine,” Brendon started, his voice low. “Can we stop this now? This drama of yours has to end. I’m tired of being pulled into every little argument.”

I laughed, shaking my head as I met his gaze, feeling the last bit of patience drain out of me. “Drama?” I repeated, my voice laced with bitterness. “You think this is about me trying to make a scene? I wanted a life with you, Brendon. I wanted you to be there for Allen, to be there for us. But all you’ve done is let me down.”

He didn’t respond, just looked away, his expression blank, as if my words barely registered. The indifference cut deeper than I’d expected.

“Fine,” I said, my voice shaking, though I forced myself to stay steady. “You want peace, Brendon? You can have it.”

Karylle’s smirk widened, her satisfaction obvious as she folded her arms, watching me like I was a show for her amusement. “Finally,” she muttered, almost to herself. “I was starting to wonder how long you’d keep this up.”

Ignoring her, I turned fully to Brendon. “I’m done, Brendon. I can’t keep fighting for someone who’s already given up on me. If you want her so badly, then take her. But I’m not sticking around for this. I want a divorce.”