After Divorce She Rose Again

The gallery wasn't officially open yet, and only a select few with special invitations could enter today. Ayden and I carefully dusted the frames of the paintings, cloths in hand. Not far away, I overheard a soft female voice:

"Haisley, this is a piece by the renowned artist, Mr. Tobias. If you like it, Aunt Alison could buy it for you. How does that sound?"

Hearing the familiar name, I froze in place. I saw my daughter, Haisley Kelly. She was dressed in a Victorian-style gown, layers of delicate lace flowing like blooming flowers, with an eight-carat diamond hairpin sparkling in her hair. She clung to Alison Wright, the closeness between them unmistakable:

"Thank you, Aunt Alison, but we already have three of Mr. Tobias's works at home. This time, I'd like to see some realist paintings."

Nearby were three or four other children around Haisley's age, her friends, all wealthy young heirs and heiresses.

It seemed as if Alison knew I would be there. She looked up, our eyes meeting, and gave me a malicious smile. In the next moment, she raised her voice, gesturing toward the painting behind me:

"Haisley, what do you think of that painting?"

My heart leaped into my throat. Instinctively, I wanted to shield my face with my hand. I had never felt ashamed of doing manual work. But in front of Haisley and her friends, I wanted to preserve a shred of dignity for myself.

Don't look at me. Please, don't let my daughter see me like this.

My silent plea went unheard. It was like a scene in slow motion as Haisley's head turned inch by inch toward me.

Alison covered her mouth with an exaggerated expression and said:

"Haisley, doesn't that cleaner look just like your mom?"

Haisley's gaze passed over my cleaning uniform and the cloth in my hand without a moment's pause. She turned her head away decisively and said:

"That's not my mom. I've told you, my mom is dead."

It was like a thunderbolt in my ears. I felt dizzy, barely able to stand. The sharp edge of the table frame cut into my palm, immediately staining it crimson.

Alison laughed, pinching Haisley's soft cheek, and gleefully said:

"So, what kind of new mom does little Haisley want?"

Haisley snuggled into Alison, her small face pressed against her chest, affectionately saying:

"Of course, I want a mom just like Aunt Alison! So smart and beautiful, and she always plays with me."

It felt as if my heart was being squeezed repeatedly, or as if it had been thrown into a vat of boiling oil. The searing pain made me oblivious to the cut on my palm.

The daughter I bore and raised through the agony of childbirth, whom I held while enduring the pain of cracked nipples, feeding her with love and care. The daughter I sang lullabies to, cradling her in my arms through sleepless nights.

Now, she declared me dead and clung to another woman, calling her 'Mom' with tender affection.

Suddenly, like a small whirlwind, a dark figure rushed in front of Haisley. Ayden had knocked her down, exclaiming loudly:

"Your mom is right here, can't you see?!"