Three Instances of a Lie Chapter 07

Three Instances of a Lie Chapter 07

Federico knelt and pressed a hand to his son’s forehead. Still warm.

“Mom’s busy.”

“I don’t want her to be busy? Erik stomped his foot, his eyes turning red. Tm sick, I want Mom! When I was sick before, Mom always stayed with me. She sang to me, and made me chicken soup, and held me the whole time…*

He was crying as he spoke, then suddenly spat out, “Mean lady! Why won’t she come back

But after his outburst, he dissolved into sobs again. “Mommy… I want my mommy…*

Federico was stunned.

He suddenly understood that the “mean lady” and “Mommy” his son cried for were one and the same person.

In the past, whenever Erik was sick, Berry would drop everything to be by his side.

She would stay up all night, cherishing the quiet moments with her son, praying for his fever to break.

Over time, Erik had learned: for fun and games, he had Aunt Savannah. For sickness, for sadness, for nightmares, he had Mom.

But now, Mom was gone.

Federico picked up his son, soothed him, and handed him to the butler.

He went to the study and closed the door, his gaze landing on the divorce papers she had signed.

The line for the husband’s signature was starkly blank.

He’d never intended to sign it. In fact, when she’d signed her name so cleanly, a knot of pure anger had tightened in his chest. How dare she?

She was the one who cheated, the one who wronged him. So how dare she be more decisive about ending it than he was?

Shouldn’t she be on her knees, weeping, begging him not to leave her?

That’s how it had gone the first two times. Why was this time so different?

She had just walked away, not even wanting her own child.

And now… she wasn’t even claiming her mother’s body.

She had left so cleanly. As if in four years, she had taken nothing of value from this house and wanted nothing to take with her.

He stared at the name “Berry Blackwood” on the paper, and it suddenly felt like a

stranger’s.

He opened his chat with her, his thumbs feeling heavy as he typed:

[I’ve taken care of your mother’s arrangements.]

No reply. He sent another.

[Our son has a fever. He keeps calling for you.]

Still nothing.

The study was silent except for the heavy ticking of the clock on the wall.

Until the butler’s panicked shout shattered the quiet. “Sir, something’s wrong! The young master is having a seizure!”