Chapter 2

Winter's POV

I don't remember handling all that paperwork. When I pushed open our apartment door clutching a brown paper bag with Axel's belongings, it was already past midnight.

The place was pitch black. I didn't turn on the lights. Just walked to the couch in a daze and sat down.

The bag held Axel's death certificate, cremation consent forms, and that crushed piece of caramel.

I don't know how long I sat there before I heard keys in the lock.

The hallway light flicked on. Marcus walked in, dripping wet from the rain. He wore a sharp suit, tie slightly loosened, and he smelled like Chanel No. 5—Marlowe's signature scent.

Seeing me sitting in the dark, he paused, then frowned. "What are you doing sitting in the dark? I called you a dozen times—why didn't you pick up?"

He tossed his coat on the couch and started undoing his cufflinks. "When did you get back? Where's Axel? Tommy needs another blood separation tomorrow. Wake Axel up and get him ready. The doctor said they need to extract more this time—make sure he drinks plenty of water."

His tone was so casual, so matter-of-fact. Like Axel wasn't his son but some walking blood bank.

I slowly looked up at this man I'd loved for seven years. I used to think he was handsome and steady, a safe harbor for me and Axel. Now I just found him revolting.

"Blood separation?" I croaked. "Do you even realize Axel's only five? His body can't handle this."

Marcus paused, then sneered. "What's wrong with you now? The doctor said there might be some side effects, but he'll be fine in a few days. Axel's tough—he barely gets sick. Tommy has congenital immune deficiency—he could DIE any minute! How can you be so heartless as a mother?"

Heartless?

I stared him down and felt like I was losing my mind. My poor Axel got winded from running because of his mild anemia, but his father never even noticed.

"Marcus, Axel is YOUR biological son too." I kept staring. "When you signed that consent form, did you ever think Axel might die?"

"Don't talk to me about death." Marcus laughed like I'd told the world's funniest joke. He yanked off his tie. "It's just an experiment—it's not like he's losing a limb. Can you stop treating Marlowe like the enemy? Tommy's a sick kid. What's wrong with his big brother helping him out?"

Big brother? Axel was two months YOUNGER than Tommy!

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

"I want a divorce."

Marcus went still. In his mind, I was always the hysterical woman who cried and begged him to stay.

After a moment, he scoffed. "Winter, what game are you playing now? Threatening me with divorce? You think that'll stop Axel from helping Tommy? Cut the jealous act. Are we done here? I'm beat."

He walked to the bar and poured himself whiskey. When he turned around, his eyes fell on the brown paper bag on the coffee table.

"What's this?" He frowned and walked over. "Did you actually draft divorce papers?"

Just as he reached for the bag, his phone went off.

Special ringtone. Marlowe.

Marcus jerked his hand back and answered. Marlowe's tearful voice came through: "Marcus... Tommy suddenly has a high fever. He keeps calling for you. Is he... is he dying? I'm so scared..."

"Don't cry, Marlowe. I'll be right there!" Marcus's voice instantly became gentle and panicked.

Without hesitation, he dropped his whiskey glass, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door.

At the doorway, he stopped and coldly said: "When Axel's done with his tantrum, tell him to go to the hospital tomorrow himself. If you try to stop him, Winter, don't blame me for not giving a damn about our marriage."

Then he left without looking back.

I watched him rush out.

Today was Axel's birthday. He'd forgotten again. Just like last year.

That morning, I'd gotten up early to make Axel's birthday cake. A two-layer Superman cake with five little candles. Axel ran around the living room excitedly, asking over and over: "Mommy, when's Daddy coming home? Will he blow out candles with us?"

I texted Marcus, reminding him it was Axel's birthday. He said he'd leave work early and definitely be home to celebrate.

Six PM—cake was ready, presents were wrapped, Axel sat at the table in his favorite little suit waiting for Daddy.

Seven. Eight. Nine o'clock.

Marcus's phone kept going straight to voicemail.

Later I found out Tommy had a little cough that day. Marlowe was worried sick, so Marcus spent the entire afternoon and evening at the hospital with them.

Axel sat alone with his birthday cake, little hands clasped together making a wish. After he finished, he looked up at me: "Mommy, did Daddy forget my birthday? Is Tommy more important than me?"

I looked into those clear blue eyes, my heart breaking, but I forced a smile and lied: "No, sweetheart. Daddy's preparing a surprise. He'll make it up to you tomorrow."

But tomorrow, Marcus just came home with a casual "Happy birthday" and some cheap plastic toy from a convenience store.

And now, the second Tommy got a fever, he was racing over there.

I slowly walked to the whiskey Marcus had left on the table. Downed it in one gulp.

I remembered what the nurse said: "This kid was so brave... He kept asking when Daddy was coming to get him."

Choking back tears, I dialed a number.

"Johnson Law Firm? I want to sue my husband. For manslaughter."