Chapter 2A Mother's Erasure

The dark green liquid swirled like a miniature vortex in the cup.

Damian’s hands weren’t steady. At fifteen, he was still just a boy.

A self-mocking smile touched my lips. "What kind of tea is this?"

I knew it wasn't tea. But a part of me, the part with that damned, finely-tuned heart, still clung to a sliver of hope. I was born to torture myself.

"It's just normal tea. Drink it," Damian mumbled, his eyes darting away, lashes hiding his gaze.

He had learned to lie.

I looked away, struggling to keep my voice even. "Where's your father? It's my birthday. If you're serving me tea, the least he could do is bring me a cake."

My tone was thick with a sarcasm born from seven birthdays spent in silence.

"It's your birthday today? Oh, right. It is. That's why I came home early." Damian glanced up. "Dad will be back soon. He had to take care of something first."

As if on cue, the front door opened.

Jason strode in, immaculate in his suit. His usually stern, cold face held a flicker of the same barely concealed anticipation as his son's.

They were both waiting. Waiting for me to drink.

Once I did, my so-called "finely-tuned heart" would no longer feel a thing. I wouldn’t be a hysterical harpy anymore. I wouldn't embarrass them.

Jason and Damian could finally stand by Layla’s side, openly, and welcome her as the true matriarch of the family.

As for me? I wouldn't love them anymore, so why would I ever cause a scene again?

That was their logic. Their perfect, cold solution.

I let out a short, bitter laugh and took the cup.

Jason, still by the door, pressed his lips together. He took two steps forward and then stopped.

Seeing his empty hands, I asked pointedly, "Did you forget to bring my present?"

"What?" His brow furrowed into a familiar frown. It had become his habit when speaking to me, a clear signal of his impatience.

"Dad, it's her birthday," Damian chimed in, covering for him. "You said you bought a gift, remember?"

Jason feigned a moment of realization. "Right, of course. I know it's your birthday. I bought you that grand piano you always wanted. It's at the office. I forgot to have it delivered. I'll bring it tomorrow."

He was a much better liar than his son, his expression a perfect mask of sincerity.

I nodded slowly, my gaze dropping to the liquid in the cup.

Father and son fell silent. A strange, heavy quiet descended upon the house.

They were waiting.