Chapter 4

Ethan was dressed in an impeccably pressed, light blue linen shirt.

Even well into his seventies, he still carried an air of refined, scholarly grace.

I remembered when we first crossed paths at the agency; he was surrounded by admirers.

To the outside world, Ethan Miller was the epitome of a gentle, cultured intellectual.

I used to believe that illusion completely.

When we first got together, I suffered from an overwhelming sense of inadequacy, convinced that I was unworthy of such an extraordinary man.

Yet the moment I discovered he had secretly maintained an entire family behind my back, all that blind adoration shattered into dust.

Looking back objectively, there was nothing about me that fell short of him.

I had kept our home spotless, managed every dime, and held our lives together through decades of hardship. Without me, that house would have collapsed years ago.

It was only my unconditional love that had placed him on a pedestal, allowing him to take my sacrifices entirely for granted.

Seeing that I didn't immediately rush to pacify him, Ethan grew impatient.

"I asked you a question, May!"

I drew in a deep breath and looked straight into his eyes.

"So in your eyes, everything that happened is just me being unreasonable?"

"Ethan, after fifty years, I finally see you for the coward you truly are."

He flinched, his tone shifting into an uneasy, softer register.

"May, come on, it's really not that big of a deal."

"Lucas is my biological son, yes, but it was just a terrible mistake after a drunken night decades ago."

"You have to believe me. I never meant for it to happen."

A cold laugh tore from my throat. It was truly pathetic how men always used alcohol as their ultimate shield.

"You didn't mean for it to happen? Was posing for that family portrait an accident too?"

"Was the sweet note you wrote under the picture—wishing your little family eternal happiness—just a drunken mistake as well?"

"Stop insulting my intelligence, Ethan."

Ethan’s neck flushed bright red with embarrassment. Cornered, he flared up defensively.

"May, don't push your luck!"

"Have I ever mistreated you all these years? Anything you ever asked for, didn't I provide it?"

"It was a single lapse in judgment decades ago! Why do you have to cling to it like a pitbull?!"

The dam broke, and fifty years of suppressed fury exploded out of me.

"I don't owe you a single damn thing, Ethan Miller!" I shouted, my voice ringing across the courtyard.

"I spent thirty years raising the child you had with another woman!"

"In all those thirty years, aside from handing over a monthly allowance, what did you ever contribute?! I handled his food, his illnesses, his school conferences, his entire upbringing!"

"You're not the only one with a government pension, Ethan! I have mine too!"

"Without you and that ungrateful boy dragging me down, I could have lived ten times the life I had!"

Ethan recoiled in genuine shock. In all our years together, I had always been soft-spoken, submissive, and eager to please.

He reached out, trying to grab my wrist, his voice dropping into a desperate plead.

"May, please stop this nonsense. The house is falling apart without you. Just come home with me."

I smacked his hand away with utter disgust.

"You don't want me home because you miss me. You want me home because you need someone to wash your laundry and cook your meals."

"Let me make this crystal clear: I am never going back. I'm filing for divorce."

I turned to leave, but he lunged forward and grabbed my arm again.

As we stood locked in an angry standoff on the sidewalk, a woman approached from the parking lot.

Her face was strikingly familiar. It took me only a split second to recognize her—she was the woman from the family portrait.

She walked up, offering Ethan an easy, familiar smile.

"Ethan, long time no see. You haven't brought our boy over to visit me in months."

Hearing her words, I couldn't help but let out a mockingly pleasant laugh.

"Let go of me, Ethan. Look, your real family is finally reunited."

The woman turned toward me, her eyes widening slightly as she took a step forward, speaking with earnest urgency.

"Ma'am, please don't misunderstand. Let me explain everything to you."

Ethan let out an audible sigh of relief, quickly chiming in.

"Yes, exactly! Tell her, Claire! Explain to her that it was an isolated accident!"

Before I could refuse to listen, the woman took my arm and gently ushered me back toward a private booth inside the tea lounge.

Ethan was left pacing nervously outside, while Sarah stayed firmly glued to my side.

Once the sliding screen door was shut, the woman pulled a folded document from her designer leather bag, laid it on the table before me, and spoke in a solemn voice.

"Lucas isn't Ethan's son at all."