Chapter 1

1.

The year Caleb turned seven, I asked Ryan for a divorce.

The trigger was just a few brownish-yellow crumbs I found in the crevices of his passenger seat.

Before I could even ask what they were, Caleb―my own son―was already looking at me frantically in the rearview mirror, rushing to explain for his father.

"Mom, I'm sorry... I made a mess. It was my protein bar..."

Ryan glanced in the mirror, his tone casual. "You hear that, Emily? Relax. It's not a big deal."

But I couldn't relax.

My husband, Ryan, was a man with a level of cleanliness that bordered on obsessive-compulsive.

His Tesla was his baby. No one was allowed to eat in it. Even water bottle caps had to be screwed on tight enough to be completely leakproof.

My son, Caleb, has a severe peanut allergy. The kind that leads to life-threatening anaphylactic shock.

And now, this father and son were on the same side, using an excuse that could literally kill Caleb to lie to me?

The truth was so obvious it stung my eyes.

When I finally packed my bags to leave that house, Caleb hid behind Ryan's leg, peeking at me with shifty eyes, as if I were about to forcibly stuff him into my suitcase and drag him away.

I looked at him and felt a cold exhaustion wash over me. "Don't worry, Caleb. I don't want to take either of you with me."

…

The moment I carefully dabbed at the crumbs with a tissue, Caleb’s stuttered lie tumbled out of his mouth.

Normally, if he spilled something, he’d throw himself into my arms, whining and begging for forgiveness, not stand there stiffly, avoiding my gaze.

I twisted my lips into a sarcastic smile, ignored him, and turned directly to Ryan. My voice was as calm as if I were discussing the weekend weather. "Ryan, I want a divorce."

Ryan and Caleb both froze, as if I had suddenly switched to a foreign language.

"Over a few... crumbs?" Ryan raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Emily, this is ridiculous."

I nodded, so calm it surprised even me.

"Yes. Over this."

Caleb looked like he was about to cry, his little face flushed red. "Mom, it was my fault! Please don't be mad at Dad!"

I watched coldly as Ryan immediately knelt down, gently wiped away his son's tears, and soothed him in a low voice. No matter how tender the scene looked, my heart was a block of ice.

Ryan's obsession with cleanliness was pathological.

Peanut butter?

For a sticky, greasy, and smelly food like that to even appear in his car was a massive red flag.

I once tried to eat a piece of chocolate in the car because of low blood sugar, and he immediately made me get out to finish it, then repeatedly checked my fingers and the seat with a wet wipe.

As for Caleb... his reaction to peanuts would cause his throat to swell shut, leading to suffocation.

The smell made my stomach churn, flashing me back to the terrifying image of him at eighteen months old. He had accidentally eaten a bite of a cookie with peanut butter, and his face turned purple as he struggled to breathe, going limp in my arms on the way to the emergency room.

Every exposure was a potential murder.

And now, my seven-year-old son had learned to use his own life as a tool for a lie.

I never taught him that. So, who did?

Who had Ryan been seeing, with our son in tow? A woman who couldn't live without her peanut butter protein bars?

Ryan managed to calm Caleb down, his sobs subsiding as he clutched his father's shirt sleeve. But his next words were like an ice pick to my heart.

"Dad, don't let Mom leave... She'll be okay, right? She's not like Chloe... Chloe always has fun things to do..."

Before he could finish, Ryan's face changed drastically. He almost frantically covered his son's mouth.

Chloe.

Chloe Hunter.

I raised an eyebrow, my gaze sweeping over the father and son.

My son had perfectly inherited some of his father's traits―right down to his taste in women.