Chapter 2
Claire's POV
The call ended.
The living room settled back into its usual quiet.
But inside me, everything was boiling. I couldn’t make it stop.
I scraped the two cold dishes into the trash and pushed open the bedroom door.
Derek was lying on his side with his back to me, scrolling on his phone.
"Derek."
I took a deep breath. I wanted to talk this out, properly.
"Tessa is my oldest friend. We’ve known each other since we were kids. Why would you say that about her?"
"She heard you. Every word. How do you think that made her feel?"
"Have you ever once shown her any respect? Have you ever thought about how I feel?"
It all came out in one rush, and afterward I felt a little lighter.
Then I waited, quietly, to see what he’d do.
I thought he might argue. Or maybe, quietly, apologize.
But he didn’t do anything.
He just lay there on his side, frozen in that stiff, uncomfortable position. When I walked around the bed, his eyes were closed.
He was pretending to be asleep. Using I’m asleep as a wall against me.
All the fight drained out of me at once.
My chest had been so full I thought it might burst. Before I came in, I’d braced myself for a real argument.
But Derek wasn’t going to engage. He never did.
He didn’t care where my hurt went, or what it turned into.
He just found it noisy.
Right then, an explosion boomed through the living room—so loud it felt like it went off inside my chest.
I opened the door.
Ethan was sprawled on the couch with a controller in his hands, some shooting game blasting across the big screen. Gunfire. Explosions. An announcer screaming every three seconds.
I checked the time. Nine o’clock.
I picked up the remote and turned off the TV.
"Ethan, that’s enough video games. It’s nine o’clock. Go brush your teeth, wash your face, and get in bed."
The second I set the remote down, Ethan—without so much as a glance at me—walked straight to the TV and turned it back on.
I frowned. "Ethan. Mommy said no more games. It’s late. Bedtime."
He looked back at me.
That look.
It was the exact same look Derek gave me whenever he decided I was being too much.
While I stood there, stunned, Ethan snatched the remote off the coffee table and cranked the volume all the way up.
Just like his dad.
His dad shut me out with silence.
He drowned me out with noise.
Something cracked against the inside of my skull, a deep, ringing thud.
The next second, I’d yanked the console’s power cord out of the wall and pulled him around to face me.
"Ethan Hastings. Who taught you that?"
"Mommy is talking to you! Why won’t you listen to Mommy?"
Ethan’s eyes darted toward the front door—I heard the lock turn—and he burst into tears. "You’re yelling at me! I hate you! I want Grandma!"
A second later, someone came at me from the side and shoved me, hard.
"What are you screaming at the child for?!"
Barbara wrapped Ethan up in her arms, staring at me like I was a lunatic.
"Nobody cared about your birthday because nobody likes you. Don’t go taking it out on the boy! He’s not your punching bag!"
My arm burned. She’d raked her nails across it when she shoved me, leaving angry red welts.
I swallowed it down. "Barbara, I’m not taking anything out on him. It’s nine o’clock. I’m trying to get him to bed."
Ethan sniffled. "Grandma, there’s no school tomorrow. I’m almost to the next level."
Barbara said instantly, "Then you play! It’s the weekend—you play as long as you want."
"Don't you worry, sweetheart," my mother-in-law cooed, pulling him into a hug. "You’re a true grandson of Hastings family. You don't have to take orders from an outsider."
An outsider. The word landed like a slap. That was exactly how they saw me: an unpaid maid kept around to cook their meals and scrub their laundry, with absolutely no right to discipline their precious heir.
My son peeked out from behind her shoulder, shooting me a smug, triumphant smirk.
My chest went completely hollow. I stared at him, searching for the sweet, gentle boy I had carried in my own body for nine months. But he was gone. In his place stood an unbearable, entitled stranger.
