I Saw My Cruel Stepmom Future And Changed It All Chapter 02

I Saw My Cruel Stepmom Future And Changed It All Chapter 02

That same night, I headed for the residential chef’s kitchen to grab solid ice cubes for my burn.

A thin strip of warm light seeped out under Jasper’s Private Bedroom door as I passed.

I’d planned to keep walking, until the sound of muffled sobs drifted through the door.

New commentary popped into sight.

[He cries every single night, hasn’t slept a full night since his birth mom left when he was three.]

[Kaelen never checks up on him. Everyone else steers clear, too scared to get close.]

[It’s been a full year since he accepted comfort from anyone.]

I hesitated by the door for a few heartbeats, then knocked softly.

The sobbing cut off instantly.

“…Who’s there?” His voice was thick with congestion, sharp and defensive all at once.

“It’s me. Your legal stepmother. The woman you splashed boiling water all over earlier.”

Silence stretched out on the other side of the door.

“I’m not coming inside. I just passed by and heard you’re awake. I left a mug of warm whole milk outside your door.”

“Drink it or don’t, it’s your call.”

I set the stoneware breakfast tray holding the mug down and turned to leave.

I’d only taken seven or eight steps when the bedroom door creaked open behind me.

I didn’t turn around, but a tiny smile tugged at my lips without me noticing.

The next morning, I found the empty mug sitting neatly on the platter by his doorway.

It had been fully washed clean.

A five-year-old had dragged a small wooden step stool over to the sink just to scrub that single cup.

My heart twisted seeing how lonely that poor kid must’ve been.

At breakfast, Kaelen actually sat at the head of the grand dining table for once, scrolling through his phone nonstop.

I sat across from him, and Jasper huddled as far away as physically possible, separated from us by the full length of the table.

“How’s your arm,” Kaelen asked out of nowhere, his tone as flat as if he’d asked about the daily weather.

“I’ll live,” I replied dryly.

He just hummed and went back to his screen.

Commentary flooded my vision again.

[Can you believe that deadbeat move?]

I didn’t waste energy arguing with him. I reached out and slid a mini veggie egg bake onto Jasper’s plate.

“Eat some breakfast, don’t only sip plain milk. You’re way too thin.”

Jasper stared at the tiny baked egg bite like it was an active explosive.

“I won’t eat anything you gave me.”

“I didn’t cook it. The estate chef made it. You gonna hold a grudge against food?”

He pressed his lips tight and said nothing. I didn’t push him, just focused on my own meal.

Three minutes later, I caught a glimpse of his small hand snatching the frittata from the plate out of the corner of my eye.

He shoveled it down fast, terrified of being caught.

The floating commentary spammed nonstop.

[My heart’s breaking for this little munchkin.]

[Keep going, spoil him more.]

[Healing counter: 5%]

That afternoon, Hugo the estate steward came to find me.

“Ma’am, Mr. Hale sent me to inform you Jasper starts Maplewood Early Learning Center next week. You’ll need to handle drop-off and pick-up.”

“Who’s been taking him before this?”

“A hired chauffeur in a luxury town sedan,” Hugo’s face twisted with worry. “But Jasper was fully pulled out of his last preschool.”

“What happened?”

“He hit other children, bit one of the teachers, and ripped up every drawing his classmates made,” Hugo lowered his voice.

“The center director states he displays aggressive behavioral patterns and recommended child psychological counseling.”

I stayed quiet for a long moment, processing all the information.

More commentary rolled across my sight.

“He doesn’t have violent tendencies—he just never learned how to process his emotions. No one ever took the time to teach him.”

[In the original timeline, no one intervened. By age twelve, he wound up in juvenile detention.]

“I’ll drive him myself each day,” I told Hugo.

The steward’s eyes blew wide in shock.

“Ma’am, Jasper’s temper is incredibly volatile.”

“I know,” I offered a faint smile. “He’s five. How much anger can a kid that age really hold onto?”

Hugo opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it and retreated.

That evening, I brought another mug of warm milk to Jasper’s door again.

This time the door opened two whole seconds faster than the night prior.

He peeked out through a thin crack, half his face hidden, and stared at me for ages.

“Why are you nice to me?” His voice was barely audible, like he feared angering me with the question.

I dropped to my knees to meet his eye level.

“Because you deserve kindness.”

He froze for a beat, then slammed the door shut hard enough to rattle the wooden frame.

A muffled murmur drifted through the gap.

“All grown-ups are liars.”

I didn’t walk away from his door.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” I called through the wood.

“And the day after that too.”

“I’ll be back every night.”

“Believe me or don’t—I’ve got thick skin either way.”