Sienna’s POV
The smell of toasted bread filled the kitchen, blending with the aroma of omelet and sautéed vegetables. My hands moved on autopilot, but my mind felt nk. My body was still wrecked–only an hour of sleep after a long night. But as always, there <b>was </b>no time for being sick. No space for rest.
I flipped the bread, checking the color. Then I poured the egg mixture into the second pan. It sizzled softly, weing the heat the way I weed this morning–grudgingly.
The <b>wall </b>clock showed 7:25 a.m.
Liam would leave soon.
Noah usually came down right after.
And me… I would be a shadow among them, like always. Present, but barely noticed.
I grabbed the tes and began arranging breakfast. One for Liam,plete with fruit slices. Another for Noah, with heart- shaped toast I had cut with a tiny mold–a habit I hadn’t quite let go of. Maybe because deep inside, I still had a flicker of hope that someday, my son would remember who <b>I </b>was.
As I was about to set the tes on the table, I heard footstepsing down the stairs. Heavy and firm. Liam.
He appeared in the kitchen doorway, eyes scanning the table without expression.
“Quick,” he muttered, picking up the jacket he’d hung over a chair earlier.
I didn’t respond. Just nced briefly at him, <b>then </b><b>went </b>back to cing the utensils.
“Hot tea?” I asked quietly.
“No.”
He sat down and began eating the toast, never once looking at me.
I inhaled deeply, trying <b>to </b>suppress the sting rising in my chest.
This wasn’t the first time. But it still felt like a wound being scraped open again and again–never healing, always fresh.
I sat at the edge of the table, not nning to eat. Just staring at the empty cup in front of me. I couldn’t swallow anything <b>this </b>morning. Even water felt heavy.
“Don’t forget to clean the floor. Noah spilled juice yesterday.”
A lightugh made me turn.
At the dining table, Noah was already seated with Emily.
My little boy <bughed </b>cheerfully while pointing at something on his tablet, and Emily met each of his words with a warm smile and full attention.
The kind of moment I should’ve cherished–if only <b>I </b>wasn’t the stranger in this house.
“Noah, have more breakfast, okay?” I said gently, trying to smile. “I made your favorite–honey–fried chicken.”
Noah only nced at me, then returned to chatting with Emily. As if I… was the intruder.
“Mommy…” Noah suddenly said, “My teacher said a parent has toe to school today for thepetition.”
“Oh, really?” I replied<b>, </b>smiling though it was tight. “Then Mommy wille, okay?”
<b>Noah </b>immediately looked up. His expression changed. From neutral to annoyed.
“No! I don’t want Mommy toe!” he snapped.
I was stunned. “Why? I-”
“I want Auntie Emily toe!” he cut me off, voice raised. “She’s cooler! She knows all about tech, can y games<b>, </b>and my friends like her better!”
<b>I </b>swallowed hard. “But Emily has work today, sweetheart…”
<b>13 </b>
Emily, who had stayed quiet, finally spoke in a gentle tone<b>, </b>“Sorry, Noah. Auntle Emily can’t today. I have work. You’ll have to go with Mommy, okay?”
Noah threw a fit. He mmed the tablet on the table.
“<b>No</b>!! I don’t want to go with Mommy! I hate Mommy! Mommy’s mean! Mommy’s ugly! I don’t want her toe!!”
That voice, those words–cut deeper than I could handle.
As hard as I tried to stay calm, I couldn’t hold back anymore.
“Noah, enough! Don’t speak to <b>Mommy </b>like <b>that</b>!” I snapped–my voice raised for the first time.
Noah froze. Just for a second.
Then screamed louder.
“I hate Mommy!!!”
Shaking, he ran to Emily, who quickly leaned down and scooped him into her arms.
She gently stroked his head, casting me a look like I was a monster who had just terrified her child.
“Shh… it’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay… Mommy’s just tired,” she said softly, like calming a frightened child.
Noah stayed curled in herp, his tiny face buried in her shoulder, his body trembling with quiet sobs.
<b>Meanwhile</b>, I stood frozen in the kitchen doorway, still holding the te I never got to set down.
My chest felt like it was being slowly crushed.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.
Noah’s words kept echoing inside my head. “I hate Mommy…”
Words no child should ever say.
Words thatshed across the heart like a whip–deep <b>and </b>merciless.
<b>Emily </b>looked at me for a moment. Her eyes calm. No anger–but no empathy either.
“Let me take care of Noah this morning,” she said. “You still don’t look well.”
“<b>You </b>don’t look like you’ve recovered.”
<b>That </b>line wasn’t sympathy. It wasn’t concern. It was just a confirmation–that I was <b>weak</b>, that I wasn’t capable, that I wasn’t needed.
+ID BUNUS
I swallowed hard and gently set the te down on the table, careful not to make <b>a </b>sound, as if even the smallest noise might spark more <b>reasons </b>for them to hate me.
Then came the <b>heavy </b>footsteps down the stairs. Liam<b>.. </b>
He stood in the kitchen doorway with that firm expression, his gaze sharp and usatory, aimed directly at me.
“You yelled at him?” he asked, his voice edged with judgment.
I looked at him, still catching my breath, still trying to calm the storm inside my chest.
“He crossed the line, Liam… I just ”