Chapter 5 Piece's.

Chapter 7

Pieces

The innocent yet blunt words pierced my heart like a needle.

Even in his sickbed, at his most vulnerable, his thoughts still lingered on the woman who had caused his illness.

I looked down at him. The illness had clearly taken a toll-after just two sentences, he had already drifted back to sleep.

Peter had obviously heard Paul's words too. He grasped my hand and murmured, "Honey."

I had nothing to say to him and tried to pull my hand away.

But he tightened his grip, refusing to let go. "What happened today was just an accident. Mom acted on her own, and our son only said those things because he's sick. He didn't mean it..."

"It's not that I don't understand him," I said, lifting Paul into my arms as I walked toward the hospital exit. "Right now, he's infatuated with Martha Janet. Of course he'd think she can do no wrong."

I paused before adding, "And I'm the one who forbade him from seeing her."

"At first, his resistance was bound to be intense."

"Paul isn't a bad kid at heart. I'll guide him back-make sure he understands who truly cares for him."

"But I need you to keep your word. I can let today slide as an accident, but I won't tolerate a next time."

As I spoke, I stopped walking.

Peter, worried I might be tired, instinctively took the child from my arms.

"I will. I promise, honey!"

I gazed at the child sleeping soundly in Peter arms and fell silent.

...

When we arrived home, Peter parked the car.

Seeing the boy still deep in slumber, I decided not to wake him and was about to carry him inside.

To my surprise, Peter was already standing by the passenger door, his voice soft but firm. "Let me."

With effortless ease, he cradled the child in one arm and extended his other hand toward me.

I looked up, startled.

The glow of the streetlamp bathed his tall, striking figure, his chiseled features almost divine under the golden light.

Peter smiled gently. "Mrs. Andrew, let's go home."

"Mm." I sighed inwardly, taking his hand as I stepped out of the car. "Let's go."

Once inside, Peter carefully laid Paul in his crib.

I filled a small basin with warm water and carried it to the bedroom.

Peter undressed the boy, wrung out the towel, and began wiping him down with practiced motions.

Paul slept soundly throughout-even as we dressed him in his pajamas, he didn't stir once.

He only let out an occasional groan to express his discomfort.

Peter responded with nothing more than an indulgent smile before tossing the towel back into the basin. Carrying the small basin himself, he left the bedroom.

I remained seated by the bed, watching Paul.

Lately, his attitude toward me had grown increasingly hostile. Every conversation we had would barely last two civil sentences before he'd snap at me with impatience. The only time we coexisted peacefully was when he was asleep.

"Sweetheart."

Peter called out to me as he approached, then bent down and scooped me up in his arms. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around his neck and studied his profile with a puzzled frown. "What is it?"

Using his elbow, he flicked off the light before shutting Alexia bedroom door behind us.

His tone carried a pointed edge as he asked, "What did we agree on before going to the hospital?"

The details before the hospital visit had slipped my mind.

But what happened afterward-that, I remembered all too clearly...

The moment I held our child in my arms, I had genuinely considered divorcing Peter.

Yet another thought struck me-Martha Janet had already begun tormenting my child, and Peter and I weren't even divorced yet.

And what about after the divorce?

Would Paul still have a good life?

For the sake of our child, this family must not fall apart.

All night, these thoughts swirled in my head. As for what happened before we went to the hospital, I truly couldn't recall.

"Give me a hint?"

"You really are such a scatterbrain." Peter casually closed the bedroom door, cupped my face in his large hands, and gently brushed his lips against mine. "Sweetheart..."

His husky voice, in the quiet of the night, carried an indescribable allure.

Peter chuckled low in his throat, teasing as he asked, "Remember now?"

He was trying to mess with me.

I refused to give him the satisfaction. "Oh dear, seems like I still can't recall."

In his eyes, my reflection shimmered.

My loose hair cascaded like a waterfall over the pristine white sheets.

My cheeks, flushed from his kisses, glowed with a captivating radiance.

Peter Adam's apple bobbed. "Then let me help you remember..."

...

The mental exhaustion and physical fatigue from the sleepless night weighed heavily on me.

But Paul had just been hospitalized due to stomach issues, clearly requiring careful attention. I had no choice but to force myself out of bed early to prepare breakfast for them.

Given his condition, Paul could only stomach plain congee. To make sure the porridge was soft and easily digestible, I took extra care by using an earthenware pot. First, I brought the water to a rolling boil over high heat, then reduced it to a gentle simmer.

A glance at the clock told me it was still early-just past five in the morning. So I headed to the nearby vegetable market, picking up some greens and meat before returning home. With practiced efficiency, I washed and prepped the ingredients, waiting until closer to Alexia usual wake-up time before starting to cook.

The meal was simple: stir-fried greens and a light meat broth.

Just as I finished and was about to call them to the table, I heard rapid footsteps.

Paul came darting into the kitchen, his cheeks puffed out in irritation. "I told you," he huffed, "I don't want to come home these days. I want to stay at Grandma's!"

He glared at me, his voice rising. "Even if I got sick and had to go to the hospital, you should've taken me back to Grandma's afterward!"

Unaware that I already knew the truth, he stubbornly clung to his excuse, believing that as long as he used his grandmother as a shield, he could keep chasing after Martha Janet as he pleased.

But I chose to call him out directly: "Drop you off at Grandma's, only for her to take you to Martha Janet's place, is that it?"

Paul froze.

He was still just a kid, unfamiliar with situations like this, unsure how to react.

"Paul, starting today, I won't be taking you to your grandma's anymore."

Instinctively, he shot back, "Why not?"

For once, I stood firm. "Because I'm your mother!"

"Then I don't want you as my mom anymore!" Paul burst into tears, his voice breaking. "I want Aunt Janet! I want her to be my mom!"

He was the child I carried for ten months.

The one I painstakingly raised.

Yet now, for the sake of a woman who spoiled him with junk food and ruined his health, he was saying he didn't want me anymore...

A sharp pang of hurt twisted inside me.

Tears welled in Alexia dark, gem-like eyes. Mere crying wasn't enough to vent his frustration. He glanced around, his chubby little hands grabbing the glass of cold water from the table-then hurled it violently onto the floor.

**Crash!**

Shards of glass scattered everywhere.

So did the water.

My hands and feet turned ice-cold. It wasn't just a glass he shattered-it was my heart. I couldn't understand...

How could he bear to hurt his own mother for the sake of a woman he'd barely known?

As if that weren't enough, Paul proceeded to smash everything else in the house within reach.

When Peter stepped out and took in the wreckage of their living room-along with his son still hurling objects in a frenzy-his brow furrowed involuntarily. "Paul, what on earth are you doing?"

Hearing his father's voice, the boy finally stopped sobbing. He dashed over and clutched at Peter sleeve, his small face streaked with tears. "Dad, don't you like Aunt Janet best?"

His voice trembled with desperate hope. "Please, please divorce Mom and marry Aunt Janet instead!"

"I want her to be my mother," he pleaded, words tumbling out in a rush. "I want us to be a family-I want to live with Aunt Janet forever!"