selfishness in his father and turned into a refined egoist.
I couldn’t believe that this was the son I had worked so hard to conceive and give birth to, and I understood why he chose Rachel over me. Because at the time, he didn’t know that he was dependent on me to provide for him, he naturally chose the “mom” who
made him more comfortable in life.
“I find this all rather funny and disappointing,” I said. “You’re so much like your father.”
Oliver blinked up at me. “Like Daddy?”
“Yes. The father and son are really equally selfish,” I explained, my voice calm and clinical. “You only care about people when
they’re giving you what you want.”
His lower lip trembled. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” I raised an eyebrow. “Do you know why you used to be able to attend those special training classes? Because I spent thousands of dollars every month on customized training sessions designed specifically for your condition.”
Oliver’s eyes widened with surprise.
“Do you know why you lived in a big villa with a swimming pool and your own playroom? Because I spent millions of dollars to
create a suitable living environment for you.”
I leaned closer, my voice dropping. “And do you know why it was occasionally okay for you to eat buttercream without getting
this sick? Because I imported special herbs from Europe every year–herbs that cost more than $100,000–to enhance your
physique and strengthen your immune system.”
Oliver’s mouth hung open in shock as the reality of his privileged life became clear to him.
“But I won’t be providing any of these things for you in the future,” I continued matter–of–factly. “Because I’m not your mom
anymore. You’ve made that abundantly clear.”
1/3
Selfish Like Father, Selfish Like Son
“But–but I didn’t know!” Oliver protested, panic rising in his voice.
“Of course you didn’t,” I replied coldly. “Children rarely understand what their parents sacrifice for them. But most children don’t reject their mothers in favor of their father’s secretary.”
Oliver clutched at the hospital blanket, his knuckles turning white. His small face contorted with desperation.
“I don’t want Rachel as my mom anymore! I want you!” he cried, his voice breaking.
I shook my head slowly, keeping my face expressionless. “1 asked you before, Oliver. I gave you chances to choose. And you chose
Rachel.”
Tears spilled down his cheeks, making wet tracks on his pale face. “I didn’t mean it! I take it back!”
“That’s not how it works,” I said, feeling my heart harden even as it ached. “You can’t just take things back when they become
inconvenient.”
Sarah shifted uncomfortably beside me. She bit her lip, clearly wanting to comfort the crying child. But this wasn’t her place to
intervene.
“Remember the video you helped Rachel make?” I asked him, my voice sharp. “The one where you claimed I abused you? That I didn’t feed you? That I was cruel to you?”
Oliver’s face paled dramatically, and he looked down at his hands guiltily. His shoulders shook with silent sobs.
“I didn’t even hold you accountable for that,” I continued, my tone becoming colder. “I could have, you know. Lying to the Pack
Council is a serious offense, even for a child your age.”
Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks, dripping onto the hospital gown. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I’m really sorry.”
“This time I saved your life again,” I said, my voice softening just a fraction despite my resolve. “I no longer owe you anything,
Oliver. Our debt is settled.”
I turned away abruptly, gathering my medical charts from the bedside table. The clipboard felt heavy in my hands.
“I’ve completed my duty as your healer. Sarah will monitor your condition tonight,” I stated briskly. “She’s fully qualified to
handle your care.”
“Wait!” Oliver cried out desperately, his voice echoing in the sterile room. “Please don’t go! Don’t leave me!”
I kept my back to him, steeling myself against his pleas. This was necessary, I reminded myself. He needed to understand the
consequences of his choices.
“Mommy, please!” he sobbed loudly, his voice raw with emotion.
I forced myself to take another step toward the door. My hand reached for the handle.
The sound of frantic movement erupted behind me, followed by a loud thud and the clatter of medical equipment. I spun around instinctively.
2/3
IT WOW
Oliver had thrown himself out of the hospital bed in desperation. The IV stand toppled over with a crash as he scrambled across the cold floor on weak, trembling legs. The monitor alarms began blaring in response.
“Oliver!” Sarah gasped, rushing toward him with her arms outstretched.
But before she could reach him, Oliver had launched himself forward. His small arms wrapped around my legs with surprising strength, clutching desperately as if I might disappear at any moment.
“I didn’t mean to do it!” he wailed, his entire body shaking with violent sobs. “I’m sorry, Mommy! I’m so, so sorry!”
His tears soaked through my scrubs as he clung to me with every ounce of his diminished strength. His small fingers dug into the
fabric, refusing to let go.
“Please don’t leave me,” he begged, looking up at me with red–rimmed eyes. “I was wrong! I was so wrong!”
I stood frozen, looking down at my son. The son I had carried for nine months. The son I had nursed through countless illnesses. The son who had just days ago declared I wasn’t his real mother.
“The words in the video,” Oliver hiccupped through his tears, his voice barely audible, “they were all things that Rachel taught
me to
Say.”
