Chapter 1

Ethan and I met, fell in love, and built our careers together at the national aerospace agency.

We dedicated our entire youth to the space program, remaining childless all those years.

Then, right after we retired, Ethan suddenly brought a baby boy home.

He claimed the infant was an orphan left behind by a fallen fellow soldier from his service days.

Believing him completely, I poured my whole heart into raising that baby as if he were my own flesh and blood.

When the boy grew up and started a family of his own, I stepped up to look after my granddaughter without a single day of rest.

Until today. While cleaning out the bottom of the closet, I stumbled upon a dusty family portrait.

In the photograph, Ethan had his arms wrapped tenderly around another woman, and the boy was cradled gently in her embrace.

I looked at the picture, remembering how, in all the thirty years I had cared for that boy, he had never once called me Mom.

It was only at that moment that the brutal truth finally hit me.

They had a real family all along.

While organizing the back of the closet, I pulled out a yellowed photograph tucked beneath the floorboards.

The edges were worn and frayed, but the image inside burned into my eyes like acid.

In the picture, Ethan was holding a strange woman close, his smile radiant, while the boy—the "orphan" he claimed to have rescued—lay nestled securely in her arms.

The three of them leaned against each other, glowing with warmth, joy radiating from every feature.

At the bottom corner, a short line of handwriting read:

"Our very first family portrait. May the three of us stay safe and happy forever."

It was Ethan’s handwriting. No doubt about it.

My fingers trembled so violently that the photo slipped from my grip.

I rubbed my eyes, desperate to prove myself wrong, but the undeniable reality made tears spill down my face.

Ethan and I had been together for nearly fifty years.

During our first two decades together, I had brought up having children more times than I could count.

Yet every time the subject arose, the usually cultured, gentle man would darken with irritation.

"May, the space program needs us right now," he would scold me.

"Personal desires mean nothing compared to the mission. We have to dedicate ourselves entirely to our country."

Back then, I genuinely believed he was just devoted to his work.

So, years later, when our projects stabilized and the agency granted us a long overdue vacation, I brought it up again.

That time, he slammed his hands on the table, flipping it over in a blind rage, roaring at me.

"Why do you keep pushing me?!"

"A child is nothing but a liability! When we're working eighty hours a week, who’s going to raise it?"

"Your sick mother who can barely remember her own name? Or your deadbeat father who walked out on you both?!"

The vicious words hung in the air. I stood frozen, staring at him in shock.

I couldn't believe the man I loved could say something so cruel.

Seeing how shaken I was, his tone instantly softened, masking the malice.

"May... I'm sorry. I just mean our careers are too intense right now. It's not the right time."

"Once life settles down and we actually have time, we’ll talk about it, okay?"

Heartbroken, I nodded and dropped the subject.

Years slipped by, dragged out in silence, until neither of us ever spoke of it again.

Until one afternoon, when he walked through the front door holding a young child by the hand.

He kept his voice low and solemn.

"This is my fallen comrade's son. He passed away, and the boy has no one left. I want to take him in."

Hearing the boy’s tragic story, my heart broke. I took him in without a second thought.

I treated him like my own child, giving him the best of everything I had.

In doing so, I felt like I was finally fulfilling my lifelong dream of being a mother.

Yet day after day, year after year, the boy refused to call me Mom. He even pulled away whenever I tried to show him affection.

Whenever I felt hurt, Ethan would soothe me with comforting words.

"Don't push him, May. He's just a traumatized kid. One day he’ll realize how good you've been to him."

Snapping back to the present, I stared down at the family portrait in my hand and let out a bitter, self-mocking laugh.

No wonder he never accepted me as his mother.

They already had a complete family without me.

Suddenly, a shrill voice pierced the silence from the living room.

"Mrs. Miller! Where on earth are you?!"