I Raised My Husband's Love Child...Then He Shot Me

Chapter 2

"What kind of nonsense are you spouting?" Michael thundered.

His face twisted with rage, and the air between us grew heavy—but I didn't back down.

"It's been eight years, Michael. I'm done. I want out," I said clearly, firmly.

Michael scowled. "What's your problem? Why are you being so dramatic? I already told you—Ivan is just a kid. Don't take what he said to heart. It's his birthday today, just come along. I'll deal with him later."

He grabbed my wrist and started to drag me outside. I yanked my hand back.

"You said I could leave when he turned eight. So, tell me—how am I being dramatic?" I shot back.

Before Michael could answer, a shrill, bitter voice cut through the tension.

"Rachel, do you have no shame? Always trying to steal the spotlight—even on a little boy's birthday!"

I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Sarah. My stepmother. Ivan's grandmother.

She and Michael had made the deal: I stay and raise Ivan until he turns eight, then I walk away. Simple. So why were they making it messy now?

"I'm not stealing anyone's spotlight," I replied, meeting her glare. "You're the one who agreed I could leave after eight years."

Sarah scoffed. "Must you bring it up on my grandson's birthday?"

"It's fine," Michael cut in, ever the peacemaker. "Rachel didn't mean it like that."

Years ago, that attempt at smoothing things over might've softened me. Not anymore. I saw through it now—just another ploy to get me to stay.

"Come on. Let's go to the party," Michael said, reaching for my arm again.

This time, I let him lead me. The party was already in full swing. Kids running around, balloons everywhere. Ivan was surrounded by his friends, but his face soured the second he saw me.

"Look, Ivan, your mom's here!" one of the kids called.

Ivan scoffed, loud enough for everyone to hear. "She's not my mom!"

I was standing just feet away. Michael sighed and pulled Ivan aside.

"Ivan, we don't say things like that," he scolded gently. "Rachel is your mom. She's taken good care of you."

Ivan's eyes burned with anger. "No! She'll never be my mom! Everyone—this woman killed my mother!"

Gasps and whispers rippled through the room. Every pair of eyes turned toward me.

"She's just his aunt."

"No wonder the kid doesn't like her."

"She probably treats him horribly."

"Apologize to her," Michael said firmly.

But I stopped him. "Don't bother. It's fine."

I turned and walked out of the party, keeping my expression neutral. I wasn't hurt—at least, not like I used to be.

Because I'd learned something over the years: no matter what I did, Michael's heart would always belong to Amelia. And Ivan? He'd never stop seeing me as the woman who took his mother's place.

"Why would you cause a scene today of all days?"

Sarah's voice sliced through the air as she stepped in front of me.

"What do you want, Sarah? I've done my part for eight years. I'm done."

"You should've raised Ivan like he was your own! Tolerated his moods! My daughter would've given him better!" she snapped.

I shrugged, already exhausted. "Too bad your daughter's dead."

Her hand shot up, but I caught her wrist midair.

"Don't even try it, Sarah. I'm not in the mood. You bullied me into coming here eight years ago. But the contract's up. Ivan's eight. I'm leaving—and I have every right to."

She yanked her hand back, rubbing her wrist, eyes full of fury.

"Do whatever you want. This is why no one will ever love you—not even your own father wants to see you," she spat, then turned and stormed off.

A sad smile touched my lips. It had been eight years since I'd seen my father. Ever since his favorite daughter died, he'd sent me away like I was nothing. He never looked back.

"I'm sorry. I got you a gift," a small voice said behind me.

I turned. Ivan stood there, smiling sweetly, a gift box clutched in his hands.

"That's very kind of you," I said softly.

"I wanted to. Open it, please," he said, eyes wide with fake innocence.

I took the box and opened it.

The stench hit me first—foul, putrid.

Inside, laid across velvet lining, was the lifeless body of my cat. An arrow through its side.

Ivan giggled.

"That'll be you soon... if you don't leave me and my dad alone."