Chapter 4

Brock's voice, cold and indifferent, held an undercurrent of undeniable frustration. "Maliyah, feel free to make any requests; I will agree to them. In exchange, you come to the hospital to care for Jamie. You know how busy I am; I can't possibly stay here and look after him all the time." I chuckled softly. "My only request has always been to expedite the divorce proceedings." Regarding Jamie, as my ex-wife, I suggested she find a caregiver as soon as possible.

I'm not sure which sentence angered Brock, but a flurry of sounds—objects being thrown—came from the phone, followed by his furious, mocking voice. "Maliyah, do you really want to divorce me and make our son a child from a single-parent family?"

"How could it be?" I asked.

I gently reminded Brock that a loving woman patiently waited by his side. "Ivy has always cared for Jamie; you could say it's a case of loving the house and its crows." Jamie, however, had always looked forward to Ivy becoming his mother. "As a father, you should have fulfilled this wish sooner," Brock said, clenching his fist and touching his forehead. "Are you really willing to hear your son call another woman 'Mom'?"

Without hesitation, I replied, "One hundred percent, willingly."

Three years ago, the Meng family's bankruptcy forced Ivy's return home. Ignoring objections, Brock hired her as his personal secretary. Last Mother's Day, Jamie gave Ivy ninety-nine carnations and often skipped school to have meals with her. They were, in fact, a real family. As for me, having faced reality, I had to move on.

Chapter 4

Brock, unusually loquacious, rambled on. Too hungry and impatient, I interrupted. "Next Monday, if you're unavailable at City Hall, we'll meet at the courthouse." I hung up, switched off my phone, and went to a restaurant.

Monday arrived. Brock didn't appear. I hired a lawyer and entrusted him with the divorce. A weekend evening, a fortnight later, found me in a field, wearing a straw hat, gazing at the sunset. I gently tapped the girl beside me, Haylee. "Haylee, Grandma's probably finished cooking. Let's go eat."

Haylee, excitedly agreeing, took my hand, her other hand clutching freshly picked fruit, and we ran home, laughing and talking. As we entered, ready to share our day's adventures with Grandma, we noticed her unusual expression.

Following her gaze, I saw an unexpected guest in the living room: Jamie. Grandma hadn't seen Jamie for years, but annually, she painstakingly sent messages urging me to send a recent family photo. She recognized him. Though I never mentioned it, this woman, who had lived alone for half a century, possessed a sharp mind. When she asked me to take Haylee to wash the fruit, I understood.

The old woman nodded sadly, brushing a speck of dust from my cheek, and led Haylee away, her back hunched.