Chapter 4

Chelsey Blackwell POV:

I cleaned Bonnie' s face, my hands gentle as I wiped away the greasy red streaks and the salty tracks of his tears. He was so quiet, so pliant. My heart ached for his resilience.

I knew now that Kevan would never change. He was still in love with Angelique, and for him, Aspen was a stand-in for the family he felt I had stolen from him. I had been a fool, a naive girl who believed love could conquer class divides and old heartbreaks. All I had done was create a gilded cage for myself and my son.

Bonnie woke up in the middle of the night, coughing. His fever had spiked again. As I gave him medicine, he looked at me with his big, sad eyes. "Mommy, did Daddy go to work?"

"Yes, sweetie," I lied, tucking the blankets around him. "He had a very important meeting."

The next afternoon, Kevan and Aspen returned. Aspen was proudly carrying a new, expensive-looking remote-controlled car. Kevan had never bought Bonnie a single toy.

Bonnie saw the car from his bedroom window, his little face falling. I couldn' t bear it.

"Hey, bug," I said, forcing a cheerful tone. "Guess what? Daddy has a surprise for you too! But it' s a secret, so you have to close your eyes."

I dashed to my closet, grabbed a small, unopened box of chocolates I' d been saving, and presented it to him.

His face lit up. "From Daddy?"

"From Daddy," I confirmed, my voice thick.

Just then, Aspen burst into the room without knocking. "What' s that?" he demanded, seeing the chocolates.

"It' s my present from my daddy," Bonnie said, hugging the box to his chest.

With a sneer, Aspen snatched the box, ripped it open, and deliberately crushed the chocolates under his heel. "Your daddy didn' t buy you that! The housekeeper did! You don' t even have a daddy!"

Bonnie' s scream of anguish was a sound I would hear in my nightmares for the rest of my short life.

"Get out!" I roared at Aspen, grabbing his arm and hauling him out of the room. "Get out of my son' s room!"

"You can' t tell me what to do!" he shrieked. "This is my Daddy Kevan' s house! He' s going to kick you out!"

Suddenly, Kevan was there. He saw Aspen' s red face, heard his screams, and without a single question, he turned and slapped me.

The force of the blow sent me staggering back. My cheek stung, my ear rang. The physical pain was nothing compared to the agony in my soul.

"He destroyed Bonnie' s gift!" I cried, my voice raw. "He told him you weren' t his father!"

"Get out of my house, Chelsey," Kevan said, his voice deadly calm. "This is my house. You and your son are living here on my charity. I want you gone."

My son. He had called him my son. Not our son.

Bonnie ran to me, wrapping his small arms around my legs. "Don' t hit my mommy!" he sobbed. "We' ll go! We don' t want the chocolates! We don' t want anything!"

The pain in my back flared, a white-hot poker stabbing me. I looked at my husband, the man I had vowed to love and honor, as he comforted the spoiled brat who had just tormented our child. I looked at my crying, terrified son, who was willing to give up everything just to make the yelling stop.

Something inside me finally, irrevocably, broke.

"Fine," I said, my voice empty. "We' ll go."

I packed a small bag for us, my movements stiff and robotic. All the while, Kevan and Aspen were in the kitchen. I could hear Kevan' s soft, soothing voice, asking Aspen if he was hungry, if he wanted a snack.

A tiny, insane part of me hoped he would stop me. That he would see me at the door with our son and a suitcase and realize what he was losing.

He didn't even look up.

As I closed the front door behind me for the last time, a sob tore from my throat. Bonnie, clutching my hand, was crying too, his small shoulders shaking.

We checked into a cheap hotel. The room was small and smelled of stale smoke. As I was tucking Bonnie into the lumpy bed, my phone rang. It was my mother.

I stared at the screen in disbelief. We hadn' t spoken in years, not since they had made their disapproval of Kevan abundantly clear and I, foolishly, had chosen him over them.

My family, the Blackwells, were simple people, but they had always loved me. Their estrangement had been a constant, dull ache in my life.

A small flicker of hope ignited in my chest. Maybe this was a sign. Maybe I could go home. I could take Bonnie to see his grandparents.

"Bonnie," I said, stroking his hair. "How would you like to go visit Grandma and Grandpa Blackwell?"

He nodded, his eyes already drifting shut.

That night, for the first time in a long time, I dreamed of a happy family reunion.

But as the morning sun streamed through the grimy hotel window, a cold dread settled in my stomach. I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that this family gathering was not a reconciliation. It was a trap.