Mom, Dad Is With Another Pretty Woman!

Finally, I could breathe.

Bella's head hit the coffee table and blood bloomed quickly. But the man who had been calmly dealing with work a moment before shot forward like an arrow to shield her.

"Gianna, are you out of your mind?" he barked. "Can't you even hear the truth Bella is telling? If it weren't for you, why would Justin always be sick and unable to live like other kids?"

"Gianna, my patience has limits—apologize to Bella right now!"

Mom only laughed coldly and turned to me.

"Justin, do you think Mommy did anything wrong?" she asked.

I stuck up my thumb without hesitation. "I'll always support Mommy."

She smiled through tears.

Dad's face twisted with rage. "Look at how you raised Justin! You're not fit to be a mother. From now on, Justin will be raised by Bella."

He yanked me toward Bella.

Her cloying perfume tightened around my throat like a rope. I thrashed, but his grip only got harder.

My asthma flared, even worse than before. It felt as if a thousand ants were biting my neck. I collapsed to the floor.

"Come on, Justin," Dad sneered. "Bella already said you're fine. Stop pretending."

But I wasn't pretending. I could barely breathe.

Before I blacked out, I saw my mother fight her way through them, scoop me into her arms, and run outside.

As she carried me, I glanced back toward the living room—where my father was bent over, fussing over Aunt Bella’s injuries.

A wave of hatred crashed over me.

He once swore he would love Mom and me for a lifetime—but forever turned out to be so short. He'd changed so fast.

During my hospital stay those days, Dad never came to see me once. Yet when Mom pushed my wheelchair outside for air, I saw him again—sitting vigil in the neighboring room, tenderly attending to Bella.

I knew Mom had seen him too; her eyes were wet. I wiped them for her and buried my head in her shoulder.

"Mom, divorce him. Let's get rid of him," I said.

She paused, then pinched my cheek. "Do you even know what divorce means?"

I nodded, then nodded again. "Divorce means we never have to live with Dad again. Then you won't cry because of him."

She smiled ruefully and kissed my forehead. "Alright. I'll give him one more chance. If he doesn't change, then we'll divorce."

...

Three days later I was discharged. It was also my birthday. Mom threw me a grand party.

Just as we were about to cut the cake, Bella arrived—bringing a whole funeral procession with her. She stormed in wailing.

"My poor son," she sobbed. "Only four months old and burned alive. The mastermind walks free and now throws a birthday party for her child—how unfair the heavens are!"

"My son—oh, it's my fault. I couldn't fight like Miss Andrews to use power and get revenge. Boohoo—"

Her cries drowned the music. Guests who had been smiling at our celebration turned pale and stared at Mom and me with strange, sympathetic eyes.

Mom's face went cold; she signaled the bodyguards to throw Bella out. But Bella pressed a hand to her belly and hissed.

"Gianna, I'm pregnant again. Last time you killed my baby—Steven let you go. But this time he's already warned you: if you lift a finger against me again, he'll make sure you die in a heartbeat."