A Burden from the Past

So that's how it was.

I remember that day far better than she does.

I had rushed into the emergency room, holding my son, who was struggling to breathe with his face turning purple, gasping to the medical staff that he had a severe peanut allergy.

Realizing I might have unknowingly witnessed the very moment they met, I didn't know whether to feel devastated or disgusted.

A dull ache pulsed in my chest. I dug my nails into my palm, forcing myself to maintain a calm and professional expression.

"Ms. Pierce, do you have any other requirements for the mansion?"

Chloe tilted her head and thought for a moment, then suddenly said, "Oh, right. The garage needs to be big enough for my vintage Mustang. It's a one-of-a-kind custom build my boyfriend had made for me. Money is no object; he's a tech mogul."

Hearing this, I almost laughed out loud.

Caleb. The struggling programmer whose career I had single-handedly bankrolled. The boy who once couldn't even scrape together startup capital was now a CEO worth billions. What took others twenty years to achieve, I helped him accomplish in just five, using my family's trust fund.

Perhaps I had made his path too smooth, causing him to forget where he came from, and to forget the person who paved that path for him.

As for that sports car, I remembered it clearly.

It was a weekend afternoon three years ago, in a coffee shop, flipping through a special edition magazine on custom cars. I was captivated by the streamlined body of a vintage Mustang and excitedly sketched out our perfect modification plan with Caleb on a napkin.

That design was a fusion of my eye for aesthetics and his obsession with performance.

I had thought that car would be a symbol of our love.

Now I finally understood. Those design sketches, which carried our shared dreams, were never meant for me from the start.

I closed the folder. "I understand, Ms. Pierce. I promise to give you a mansion that even money can't replace."

After seeing her off with a smile, I called my best friend, who is a lawyer.

"Caleb cheated," I said calmly. "I want him to leave with nothing. When this is over, 10% of his company's shares are yours as legal fees."

...

In less than half an hour, the evidence of Caleb's affair was in my email.

Only three months' worth of material, yet it was nearly 500 gigabytes.

The first video was from the day my son had his allergic reaction. Chloe hadn't told the whole story.

That emergency room visit was no accident. Caleb already knew Chloe would be on the night shift.

The second video was from the time I was staying up late, night after night, revising proposals for the company's IPO.

I thought Caleb was at home with our son, but he was actually on vacation with Chloe on a luxury yacht, enjoying the sun and champagne.

The third video was from the nights he claimed to be working late while I was recovering from childbirth.

The excuses were laughably full of holes.

I had invested in the company; how could I not know if there were projects or not?