Second Life, Second Chance

I had barely returned to the room when Damien and Vanessa stepped in together.

Vanessa’s eyes locked onto my son the moment she crossed the threshold—wide, gleaming, hungry.

“Oh my, what a beautiful child,” she cooed, lips curling into a smile too bright to be real.

“So plump, so fair—look at those eyes. He’ll be brilliant, mark my words.”

She took one look at the cotton swaddling I’d wrapped him in and gasped.

“Cotton? How could you? It’ll chafe his skin.”

Before I could speak, she unrolled a bundle of silk garments—rich, new, stitched with delicate thread.

Then she leaned forward, arms outstretched, eager to take him from me.

I pulled him closer.

“He’s my son. I know how to care for him.”

She was never going to take him.

Her smile tightened as a flicker of irritation passed over her face—then vanished, replaced by something smoother, sharper.

“You’re right,” she said, voice honeyed.

“You’re well-educated. Of course, you’ll raise him well. He’ll make something of himself. I’m sure of it.”

Her gaze never left him.

There was a possessiveness about her look—a mother’s love, forged in lies.

Damien chose that moment to speak.

“We should choose a name, Tanya. What about Daniel?”

He’d prepared a list before the birth—names he’d pressed on me like gifts.

Daniel. His favorite. His one and only.

Now I had already known that Vanessa had chosen every name on that list.

I looked at him, cold as winter glass.

“No. His name is Kenneth.”

His mask cracked—just slightly.

“But we agreed. Daniel. It’s elegant. Perfect for our son.”

I held the baby out toward him.

“Then raise him yourself.”

The offer hung between us—simple, yet devastating.

He knew what it meant: if he took Kenneth, he’d have to care for him. To lie to him. To become the father he’d never wanted to be.

He shut his mouth.

Vanessa’s smile turned brittle.

“Since you named him yourself, Tanya… you must promise to give him everything. I’m counting on him to bring honor to this family. To rise above us all.”

I met her gaze.

“No need for you to worry. Take care of your own child.”

At that, her face darkened—the mask slipped.

“That little thing? A curse. A burden. Never liked him from the start.”

She glanced away.

“He died this morning. Just… stopped breathing. How unlucky.”

My blood turned to ice, and my palms slicked with sweat.

If I had been just a little late, I would have lost Kenneth forever.

And yet—they spoke of their dead child without grief, without remorse, as if speaking of a broken teacup.

I couldn’t help myself.

“Are you sure… he’s really gone?”

Damien’s eyes narrowed—not with sorrow, but contempt.

“Of course. Babies are fragile. That bastard had no father to protect him. Let him go.”

He turned to me then, voice softening into command.

“You must focus on this one, Tanya. He’s the only hope this family has left.”