Warmth Beckons, Spring Unfolds

Today is my ninth wedding anniversary with Joe.

At the dining table, my two stepsons are lost in a video call with their birth mother, Pamela. The younger one, Frank, pouts as he tattles. "Mommy, when are you coming home? The food this old witch makes is disgusting." Jonathan, the elder, merely shoots me a cold glance, his disgust laid bare.

Joe sits at the head of the table, polishing his cutlery as if none of this concerns him.

Setting down my fork and knife, I speak calmly. "Joe, let's get a divorce."

He looks up. "What game are you trying to play now, Allison?"

I simply shake my head, feeling neither sorrow nor anger. "The nine-year agreement is up. It's time we divorced."

…

Silence falls over the large dining room, so profound you could hear a pin drop.

Jonathan and Frank pause their call with Pamela, staring at me as if I’ve lost my mind.

The mockery on Joe’s face freezes, then twists into irritation. "Had your fill of this drama?"

"This isn't drama." I stand, my gaze sweeping calmly over the three of them—father and sons. "Nine years ago, I promised your mother I would marry you and look after Jonathan and Frank. Today is the last day. My duty is done."

Brenda—Joe’s mother.

Nine years ago, my only sister, Catherine, was suddenly diagnosed with acute leukemia. She needed a bone marrow transplant and a staggering amount of money for treatment, just as I had reached a dead end. That was when Brenda found me.

A powerful society matriarch from old money, she approached a young actress whose career had just been destroyed overnight by a rival’s malicious, fabricated scandal.

She offered me a check—enough to save my sister’s life.

Her condition? Marry her son, Joe. Become a stepmother to his two children. For nine years.

Joe, the infamous playboy heir of the Capital City. His one true love, Pamela, was a race car driver chasing her dreams. After giving birth to their second child, she flew abroad to compete and then vanished without a trace.

Heartbroken, Joe got into a car accident and nearly lost a leg.

Brenda needed someone to care for her injured son and two young grandsons, to uphold the family’s dignity. I needed money to save my sister.

It was a perfect match.

I signed the nine-year marriage contract. I signed away nine years of my youth.

"Old witch, don’t think I don’t know you’re just using this trick to get Dad’s attention!" Jonathan scoffs, pushing his steak plate away. "Stop acting. It’s disgusting."

For nine years, I’ve cleaned up his messes after fights, stayed up through his fevers, and—still bearing the faded title of ‘Beauty of the Century’—attended parent-teacher meetings when classmates mocked him for having no mother. All of it earned him plenty of face.

Yet none of it compares to a single video call from Pamela.

Ignoring him, I look only at Joe. "I’ll have my lawyer prepare the divorce papers. In nine years, I haven’t touched a single card you gave me. I want nothing from the family. Just sign quickly."

With that, I turn to go upstairs.

"Stop right there!" Joe’s voice is ice. "Allison, you think you can just waltz in and out of this family as you please?"

I pause but don’t look back. "It was a contract, Joe. Nine years are up. I’m free."

Behind me comes his low, anger-choked growl. "Over my dead body."

I offer no reply.

Back in my room, I lock the door and dial Brenda.

Her voice is as gentle as ever. "Allison, have you thought it through?"

"Yes. The nine years are up. Thank you for your help back then. It’s time for me to leave."

"Good." That single word brings instant tears to my eyes. "Get some rest. I’ll handle the rest."

Hanging up, I lean against the door. Nine years of grievances finally find an outlet, and tears slide silently down my cheeks.

My conscience is clear.

To Joe, I fulfilled my duties as a wife. To Jonathan and Frank, my obligations as a mother.

Yet in the end, I am nothing.

***

The next day, Joe doesn’t come home—his way of pressuring me to back down.

I pay it no mind. At six, as usual, I get up to make breakfast.

Frank glances at the sandwiches and frowns. "I’m not eating this. I want the egg custard Mommy makes."

Calmly, I reply, "I don’t know how to make that. Besides, she’s not your mother."

"You’re lying! She is my mother! You’re the bad woman who stole Daddy!" he shrieks, sweeping his milk glass onto the floor.

The shattering sound pierces my heart.

I look at his flushed little face, so like Pamela’s. For nine years, she has been a ghost haunting every corner of this villa, sending toys from abroad or calling for a video chat. A few casual words from her completely captivate the boys.

While my day-in, day-out care, in their eyes, was just a nanny doing her job.

Kneeling, I silently clean up the mess. A shard of glass slices my finger, and blood wells up.

Jonathan stands to the side, watching coldly. "Playing the victim to get sympathy?"

I say nothing. After tossing the shards into the trash and bandaging the cut, I walk into the kitchen for a glass of warm water.

My patience is not without limits. My affection is not to be trampled on.

Just then, the front door opens.

Joe walks in. And behind him stands a woman I haven’t seen in nine years.

Pamela.

She wears a white dress, her long hair flowing. A gentle smile graces her face, as if time has left no mark.

"Mommy!"

Jonathan and Frank fly to her like little birds, clinging tight.

Pamela kneels, gathering one in each arm, her eyes slightly red. "My darlings, Mommy missed you so much."

A moving picture of a mother’s deep love.

And I stand outside it, an unnecessary intruder.

Joe’s gaze falls on me, complex and unreadable.

Pamela sees me too. She rises and offers an apologetic smile. "Allison, it’s been so long. You’ve worked hard all these years."

She says my name like we’re old friends.

The corner of my mouth twitches, but no smile forms. "It wasn’t hard work. It was my job."

My words plunge the atmosphere to freezing point.

Joe frowns, displeased. "Allison, Pamela just got back. Is that any way to act?"

"And how should I act?" I counter. "Welcome her? Joe, have you forgotten? I am your wife."

"Not for much longer," he retorts coldly.

So he wasn’t applying pressure. He’d already found my replacement.

No—perhaps I was never a replacement. Just a temporary caretaker. Now the owner has returned, and it’s time for my exit.

"Fine. Perfect." I nod, the last shred of attachment dissolving. "I’ll have the lawyer send over the divorce papers as soon as possible."

I turn and head upstairs. Behind me, Pamela’s gentle, placating voice follows. "Joe, don’t argue with Allison. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have come back…"

Then Frank’s tearful cry. "I don’t want her to be my mommy! I want you! Mommy, please don’t go away again!"

Closing the bedroom door, I shut it all out.

My heart has never been so calm.