Chapter 2
Irene's POV
I jerked my head to the side. It grazed my cheek, exploded against the wall.
"MOMMY!"
Leo's scream ripped through the apartment.
I ran into the living room. Eric stood by the couch, patting our son's back with visible irritation. The second Leo saw me, he broke free and stumbled toward me.
"Mommy..." He collapsed into my arms, his small body shaking.
I held him tight and looked up at Eric.
He stared back at me with accusation in his eyes. Then he pulled out his phone and typed rapidly.
His phone read: "He kept crying for you. Why are you home so late?"
I took a deep breath, swallowing the rage rising in my throat.
"Sorry. Picked up an extra shift."
Eric gave an impatient nod and headed to the bedroom.
I stared at his retreating back, jaw clenched, fighting every urge to chase him down and demand answers.
No. Not yet. I needed to think this through first.
Leo was still sobbing against my chest. I looked down and noticed how pale he was.
"Sweetheart, why aren't you asleep?" I touched his forehead gently.
"Mommy, I'm so hungry," he whispered, his eyes red and swollen.
My heart sank. "Didn't you eat dinner?"
He shook his head. "Daddy wasn't home. I waited for you. I didn't know what to eat. There was only some cereal left in the fridge. I ate a little, but... I'm still hungry."
My chest tightened.
From 4 p.m. until now. Ten hours. A four-year-old boy with a congenital heart condition, surviving on cereal. While his father was off God knows where, doing God knows what.
"Mommy's going to make you something right now." I blinked back tears and carried Leo to the kitchen.
The sink was piled with dirty dishes. I sighed and opened the fridge—nearly empty except for one box of pasta.
At least it's still good.
Fifteen minutes later, a bowl of steaming tomato pasta sat on the table.
Leo's eyes lit up. "Mommy, it smells so good!"
I slid the bowl toward him.
He took a few bites, then looked up hesitantly. "Mommy, aren't you eating?"
"I'm not hungry. You eat."
I was lying. I'd only had half a stale bagel since morning. But there wasn't enough pasta for both of us, and Leo needed it more.
Halfway through the bowl, Leo suddenly stood up, clutching it carefully.
"Leo?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he tiptoed toward the bedroom.
My stomach dropped.
He stopped at the door and knocked softly. "Daddy?"
No response.
He knocked again. "Daddy, I want to share with you."
The door opened. Eric stood there, looking down at him with a frown.
Leo held up the bowl, hope shining in his eyes. "Daddy, Mommy made this. It's really good. Do you want some?"
Eric glanced at the pasta. Disgust flickered across his face. He pulled out his phone and typed.
The automated voice said: "Go find your mother. Don't bother me."
Leo's smile froze.
"Daddy..." His voice trembled. "When will you talk to me? I want to hear your voice."
Eric waved him off impatiently and slammed the door shut.
Leo stood there, stunned. Tears streamed down his face. He turned and ran back to the kitchen, throwing himself into my arms.
"Mommy, does Daddy not like me?" he sobbed. "Why won't he ever talk to me?"
I knelt down and pulled him close. Through the half-open bedroom door, I could see Eric casually scrolling through his phone, the screen's glow lighting his face—as if nothing had just happened.
I held Leo tighter. My chest tightened. A lump formed in my throat.
THIS was the family I'd been killing myself to protect? THIS was the husband I'd never dared complain about for three years?
I closed my eyes. Tears slid down my cheeks.
The next morning, after dropping Leo at daycare, I went straight to the real estate office.
I'd spent the entire night thinking about divorce. I was taking Leo and leaving. For good.
This apartment was the only property under Eric's name—or so I'd always believed. After the accident three years ago, Eric told me his company went bankrupt. All assets liquidated. Only this small apartment remained.
If I sold it, I could get at least $100,000. Enough to start over with Leo.
"Hi, I need to sell a property." I handed my documents to the agent.
She took them and typed something into her computer. Then she paused.
"Ms. Walker, you're selling the Oak Street apartment, correct?"
"Yes."
"Um..." She stared at the screen, hesitating. "Just a moment, let me verify something."
She typed more. Her brow furrowed.
"What's wrong?" A bad feeling crept over me.
"It's just... the system shows your husband owns multiple properties. I need to confirm which one you're selling." She smiled awkwardly. "Sometimes the records get mixed up."
"Multiple?" I stared at her. "What do you mean?"
She glanced at the screen, then at me. Something in her expression shifted—like she realized I had no idea.
"You don't know?" She cleared her throat. "Eric Vanderbilt owns eighteen properties."
My brain went blank.
"EIGHTEEN?"
She turned the monitor toward me. "See? Here's Oak Street, worth about $250,000. Then there's a villa on Riverside, a condo downtown..."
She kept talking. I couldn't hear her anymore.
Eighteen properties.
But he told me the company went bankrupt. That everything was liquidated.
I thought all we had left was this run-down apartment.
A laugh burst out of me—bitter and broken. Tears streamed down my face. The agent looked at me with worry and pity.
So for three years, he'd let me believe he was broke while living in mansions. Let me work FOUR jobs while he enjoyed the life of a millionaire.
A memory flashed through my mind—last winter.
The heater broke down. Repairs cost $500. I called Eric, carefully asking if we could use some of his rehab fund.
He texted back one word: "No."
That entire winter, Leo and I huddled under one thin blanket. Leo's lips turned blue from the cold. I covered him with my own coat and held him all night.
And Eric? Every night he "went to the hospital for treatment." Came home late. Sometimes didn't come home at all—said he needed to stay for observation.
He was staying in those luxury apartments. In those warm homes with heated floors.
While his son and I froze in this dump.
"Ms. Walker?" The agent's voice was gentle. "Do you still want to proceed?"
"No." My voice sounded hollow. "Thank you. I need to think about this."
I walked out of the office. The sunlight was blinding.
I stood on the sidewalk, my mind spinning.
My phone rang. The daycare.
"Ms. Walker, you need to come NOW! Leo just collapsed!"
Everything stopped.
"WHAT?!"
