On Mother's Day, My Husband and Son Celebrated with His Female Assistant

On Mother's Day, Adrian Hawthorne and his son were with his female assistant, celebrating her birthday.

From outside the maternity ward, I called Adrian Hawthorne. It was his assistant who answered, her voice gentle:

"President Hawthorne is in the shower. If you have a message, I can pass it on to him later."

I even heard my son affectionately call her 'Mama'.

I turned around, walked into the operating room for an abortion, packed my bags, and filed for divorce.

Adrian Hawthorne sneered, "You want a divorce? I get custody of our son. You'll never see him again."

I nodded in satisfaction. "That's great. I don't want you or your son. Just the money."

Later, I had a well-behaved daughter and a devoted husband.

I looked at the Hawthorne men, who had come to beg me to come home, and said with a smile:

"I hope my happiness is loud enough to disturb you."

...

On Mother's Day, Adrian Hawthorne took our son to celebrate his assistant Nina Crane's birthday.

I asked him why, and he said, "Nina Crane has been with the company for five years. What's wrong with me celebrating her birthday with her?"

Adrian Hawthorne and I had a huge fight. He sneered impatiently, "Zia Sommers, you're the one who climbed into my bed and insisted on having Finn Hawthorne. Whether he celebrates Mother's Day with you or not is his choice to make."

I held our son, Finn Hawthorne, and asked, "Why didn't you spend Mother's Day with Mom?"

Finn Hawthorne just giggled and said, "Because Aunt Nina's birthday is more important."

"You just stay home all day. Your job isn't hard at all, so you don't need a Mother's Day."

I froze. Finn Hawthorne tugged on the corner of my shirt again. "Mom, can you not pick me up from now on?"

I forced an awkward smile. "Why is that?"

Finn Hawthorne said, "Because Aunt Nina picked me up today, and everyone said she's really pretty."

"I want Aunt Nina to pick me up from now on."

In that moment, the smile froze on my face, and my heart shattered completely.

The child I had raised for six years told me that Mother's Day wasn't as important as someone else's birthday.

Tears instantly streamed down my face. Adrian Hawthorne narrowed his eyes at me. "What are you crying for?"

"What right do you have to cry? Even if you feel wronged, you better suck it up."

"Zia Sommers, don't act so wronged. If you've got the guts, then divorce me."

For Finn Hawthorne, I quit my job and personally raised him for six years. All my round-the-clock companionship earned me was being told I was unimportant.

And today, outside the maternity ward, I called Adrian Hawthorne.

A woman answered the phone, her voice sweet and gentle: "President Hawthorne is in the shower. If you have a message, I can pass it on to him later."

Through the phone, I could hear the sound of running water, and then Adrian Hawthorne's low voice: "Nina, get me a towel."

I also heard my son's clear voice calling Nina Crane 'Mama'.

I looked down at the white paper in my hand, at the words "four weeks pregnant," and laughed. "Oh. Tell him to meet me at City Hall tomorrow."

Turning, I walked into the operating room. The doctor asked me, "Are you sure you want to terminate the pregnancy?"

"Have you discussed this with your family?"

I nodded. "I'm sure."

After leaving the hospital, I saw a photo Nina Crane had posted on her social media feed. The caption read: [Three people.]

The photo was of my son, my husband, and Nina Crane.

The three of them were gathered around a hot pot.

'Adrian Hawthorne was never willing to eat hot pot with me, complaining that the smell was too strong. But I guess the smell isn't too strong when he's with Nina Crane, is it?'

'Look at them. Such a harmonious family of three.'

There was another photo from a parent-child activity at school. I messaged Finn Hawthorne's teacher and only then learned it was an event the school had organized on Mother's Day.

The teacher asked in surprise, "Finn's mom, weren't you there that day?"

I looked at the message on my phone and let out a small laugh.

'They didn't even invite me, his biological mother, to a parent-child activity at his school.'

After the procedure, I dragged my exhausted body home. The huge house was empty. I packed my suitcase, then opened the fridge and made a pack of instant noodles.

Physical pain mixed with a spreading heartache, and I swallowed my tears along with the noodles.

I took out the divorce agreement that Adrian Hawthorne had tried to force and cajole me into signing several times. In large letters, I signed my name: Zia Sommers.

In that instant, a weight lifted from my shoulders.