Seven Years of Stolen Blood

I was adding the final touches to the decorations for my seventh wedding anniversary party.

Suddenly, the front door flew open.

My son, Caleb, rushed in, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"The teacher's project is so stupid," he sobbed, shoving a crumpled piece of paper into my hand before burying his face in my cashmere sweater.

I smoothed out the paper to see what had upset him so much.

It was a family tree assignment. Above the faceless sketch of a woman, a title was scrawled in bold crayon: The Just-for-Show Mom.

My heart stopped as I read the childish handwriting below.

"Dad says she's just for show, for the board of directors."

"She runs the house, but Dad doesn't love her."

"The real mom's job is to be loved and to spend money."

My fingertips grew cold against the paper.

Just then, my husband, Kierann, walked in, fresh from a video conference.

He kissed my forehead. "What's our little artist created this time?"

The next second, the smile on his face froze as he saw the paper.

His voice tightened instantly, and he reached out to snatch it away.

"He's been watching too many weird cartoons! This is ridiculous, he's just talking nonsense!"

I stared at the man who had slept beside me for seven years.

He looked like a complete stranger.

If I was just the wife in name only...

Then who was the real woman of this house?

And my son… if I was just a mother for show, what did that make him?

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1

I stared at him, the silence between us stretching for a long moment before I finally pulled a velvet box from the deepest drawer of my vanity and handed it to him.

His smile snapped back into place as if nothing had happened. He eagerly took the box and flipped it open.

Inside was a limited-edition antique watch he had been coveting for months.

"This is incredible! Darling, your taste is always impeccable."

He drew me in, pressing a cold, perfunctory kiss to my cheek.

For seven years, every anniversary gift, every birthday present I gave him was something he truly desired.

In return, he always gave me a predictable luxury gift, undoubtedly chosen by his assistant.

I’d always chalked it up to his personality. He was the CEO of a massive corporation, a man who saw the big picture. I’d always told myself he just didn’t have time for the little things.

But on Caleb's assignment, it was written:

"[Dad likes picking out gifts for my real mom. He says only true love gets a surprise.]"

The child's innocent words were a dull knife, twisting in my heart.

It wasn't that he was bad at expressing love.

His heart had simply never belonged to me.

"Don't take a child's scribbles seriously!" Kierann started to explain, but his voice trailed off as he abruptly turned and retreated to his study.

Watching him walk away, I felt the true, vast distance between us for the very first time.

Late that night, the man beside me was sound asleep.

But the family tree, Kierann's forced smile... the images replayed in my mind, chasing away any hope of sleep.

I slipped out of bed and padded barefoot from the bedroom.

The door to his study was ajar.

His study was off-limits; he loathed being disturbed while he worked.

For seven years, I had respected his privacy.

But tonight, an unsettling curiosity guided me as I pushed the door open.

I searched every corner for a clue, but found nothing.

I straightened up, my gaze falling on an Italian antique humidor on his desk.

A pang of guilt washed over me for my suspicion. I was about to give up and leave.

Just then, the hem of my dress caught the humidor, sending it toppling over.

The box slid off the polished surface.

I quickly bent down to pick it up.

But when I lifted it, I froze.