Chapter 3

Ethan paced in the hallway for a while before turning back to the bedroom.

The next morning, I was woken by a rough shove. I opened my eyes to see Lucas standing by the sofa, holding his design tube, looking thoroughly annoyed.

"Why aren't you up yet? I'm going to be late! Where's my breakfast? You haven't done anything?"

In the past, I would wake up at 5:00 AM every day to prepare a nutritionally balanced breakfast for him and double-check his blueprints. The price was my increasingly haggard face and eternal dark circles.

"I don't need your money," he muttered, his tone dripping with disdain. "Auntie Hannah does yoga and makes French toast every morning. She's never lazy like you..."

Although he spoke quietly, I heard every word clearly.

Strangely, the heartbreak was gone, replaced by a sense of liberation.

"Set your own alarm from now on. As for breakfast, there's a Starbucks on the corner. Do you have money on your card? If not, I'll transfer some."

Lucas stared at me, dumbfounded, as if he couldn't believe these words were coming from the mother who used to cater to his every whim.

He stormed out, slamming the door so hard that items fell off the shelf.

I walked over to pick up the fallen objects. One was a complex wooden mechanical model—I had hand-carved and assembled it years ago to cheer up a sick Lucas. Wind the spring, and the entire castle would come alive with movement.

Lucas had been frail as a child, and this was the only thing that made him smile. Watching his focus, I had once suggested to Ethan that the firm could try developing a line of educational architectural models for children.

But Ethan had rejected the idea entirely. He believed architecture was serious art, not some boring "toy" that just spun around.

Eventually, the idea was shelved. Lucas grew up and tossed the model he once couldn't bear to part with into the junk pile.

I gazed at the model for a long time, then wound the spring. The sound of the gears meshing was still crisp and melodious.

A thought flashed through my mind. I grabbed the model and knocked on the neighbor's door.

Toby, who lived across the hall, was only six. He was an introverted child. After his parents divorced, he was left with his elderly grandmother and spent most of his time playing with blocks alone in the hallway.

When I handed him the model, his eyes lit up instantly.

"Whoa! This is so cool!" he exclaimed, gingerly touching the precise gears.

Seeing his joy, I couldn't help but think of Lucas when he was little—and the talent I had buried so many years ago.

Returning home, I dug out an old contact book and dialed my former boss, Mr. Wright. My palms sweated nervously as the call connected.

"Sarah? Good God, a rare stranger! What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Wright, I know this is sudden... I just wanted to ask, is the firm hiring?"

It felt insane. After more than a decade as a housewife, I was attempting to return to the cutthroat architectural design industry.

But to my surprise, Mr. Wright sounded thrilled.

"Are you serious? If you're willing to come back, that would be fantastic! To be honest, we're setting up a new creative department and are desperate for a director with experience and imagination. However... since you've been out of the industry for a while, you might have to start as a project consultant. Do you mind?"

"I don't mind!" I said hurriedly. "I'll prove myself."

After hanging up, I was so excited I spun around the living room. For the rest of the day, I stayed with Toby, exploring the mechanics of the model.

"You're amazing, Auntie Sarah," Toby looked up at me with adoration. "I wish you were my mom."

My heart warmed. Just as I was about to answer, a loud crash echoed from the hallway.

The front door was slammed open, and a man reeking of alcohol stumbled in. It was Toby's father, a violent drunk.

"Where's that old hag? Where's the money?" he roared slurringly, waving half a broken beer bottle.

Toby's grandmother screamed, running from the kitchen to try and stop him.

"Get out! I have no money for your booze!"

"You liar!" the man bellowed viciously, his eyes locking onto Toby. "Then I'll take this little brat. I'll sell him for drink money!"

He charged at Toby like a madman.

Time seemed to freeze. Disregarding everything, I threw myself forward, shielding Toby with my body and taking the blow with my back.

The sharp glass plunged into my shoulder, and agony exploded instantly. Warm blood soaked my sweater, dripping onto the floor.

Toby's terrified cries echoed in my ears as the world before me faded into darkness.