Part 2The Breakup Game

Later, I learned why.

Liam's "Mom" was purely a hallucination brought on by starvation.

When he was little, his biological mother abandoned him in a park. The last time he saw her, she was wearing a red dress just like mine.

Collapsing at my door that day, seeing me squat down in my red dress through his blurry vision, he thought his mom had come to take him to heaven.

When he confessed this, I threw my head back and laughed.

Halfway through, realizing no one was laughing with me, I stopped. It wasn't funny.

Liam was squatting in front of me, his big, wet eyes looking at my manic face. No anger, no shyness, nothing but deep concern.

He was tall—6'3" when standing—very imposing.

But his behavior was so harmless.

Seeing me look at him, he got nervous, resting his chin on the sofa armrest, looking at me with those watery eyes. He said nothing, yet said everything.

Realizing the malice of my laughter towards such a pure soul, I felt a pang of guilt, but I didn't know how to apologize.

Three years of a toxic marriage taught me to use aggression and shouting to mask my fragility.

Three years spent entangled with Luke made me almost forget that before marrying him, I was the proudest heiress in the city.

The confident, poised woman I used to be seemed buried deep in my memories.

Now, I was full of resentment towards the world. I thought I'd be trapped in hate forever.

But Liam reached out, pawing at my hand like a puppy.

Until my palm opened, and he placed a pendant in it.

It was the one Liam always wore.

A gift from his parents when he was born.

Back when he was loved.

Later, his father died in an accident, and his mother remarried and abandoned him.

This pendant was the only good memory the world had left him.

But now, he took it off and placed it in my palm.

He said, "This used to be the most important thing to me. Now, you are. I give it to you, hoping it makes you happy."

With that, he pushed my fingers closed around it and gently kissed my fist.

It was the third month Liam had been living with me.

I kept him with a mindset of amusement and manipulation, wanting to see what he wanted from me.

But he did nothing.

He just stood up, put on an apron, and went to the kitchen to cook me a nutritious meal.

The spatula he held was the one I bought to use as a weapon against Luke's head during our fights.

In Liam's hand, it looked small and toy-like, but his movements were agile, not clumsy at all.

A smile played on the boy's lips.

Sunlight filtered through, reflecting in his light brown puppy eyes.

Like a ghost possessed me, I walked up and asked why he was so happy.

"Because I can cook for you."

Such a simple reason.

Yet open to so many interpretations.

Because someone was eating his food? Because he had a stable environment to cook in peace? Or simply because he liked cooking for me?

Facing those eyes that easily saw through me, I suddenly didn't want to dig any deeper.