Replaced By His First Love: My Son Wants A New Mommy

I slept in the study that night.

Not because I planned to. Upset and restless, I threw myself into the one thing I could control.

Work.

It had been neglected long enough. I simply sat down at my desk with my sketchbook after leaving our empty bedroom, and somewhere between refining the neckline of a couture piece and adjusting the gemstone placement on a collar design, the hurt had quietly transformed itself into something useful.

By the time I looked up, it was past three in the morning and my neck ached from hunching over the drafting table.

I didn't go back to our room.

My assistant had sent the message two days ago—Luxe & Legacy Group wanted to review my collection. A real meeting.

The kind I hadn't had in years. This was, in so many ways, going to be my big break. I had almost talked myself out of it twice, convinced that something at home would need me more, that my roles as a wife and mother had to come first.

But no. I was finally done with that.

I dressed carefully that morning. Tailored blazer. Good shoes. Hair done. I picked up my leather portfolio and came downstairs feeling, for the first time in months, like I actually had somewhere important to be.

They were both at the breakfast table.

I frowned at the sight I was greeted with.

Jason had a tower of syrup-drenched pancakes in front of him, the kind I never allowed on a school morning because of what the sugar did to his stomach. He was eating without a word of protest, without anyone reminding him to slow down.

Malcom was on his second coffee, watching Jason with an easy, relaxed expression I hadn't seen him wear in this kitchen in a very long time.

They both looked up when I appeared.

"Were you on your way out?" Malcom asked.

"Yes," I said.

He set his mug down and stood, and something in his posture shifted into that particular mode of his—the boardroom mode, smooth and persuasive.

"Is it something that can wait? I was thinking we go out today. All three of us. The galleria—games, shops, maybe a film. Something we haven't done in a while."

I looked at him, my breath catching. Was he serious?

He meant it. I could see that much. There was a trace of guilt behind his eyes, the residue of a man who knew he had done something wrong the night before and was trying to correct it. Beside him, Jason had drifted over from the table, watching me with an expression that was almost hopeful.

My fingers tightened around the portfolio strap. I thought about Crystal, my professional identity. I thought about the meeting, about how long I had waited for exactly this kind of opportunity.

But looking at them, a small, treacherous surge of warmth bloomed in my chest. I wanted this.

God, I wanted this so badly. Ever since Monica had returned, we hadn't had our moments. Every outing, every routine had revolved around her, while I was systematically left out in the cold.

I had been so desperately starved for my husband to want us, to include me, to just choose me for once.

Even with the frost from yesterday still burning, the temptation to have a normal, quiet day with my family was overwhelming. I couldn't bring myself to say no to the people I loved most. My career could wait a few hours.

I stared down at my portfolio, letting go of my morning plans.

"Alright," I said quietly. "Let me get my bag."

___

The galleria was bright and unhurried, the way public holidays make everything feel. Malcom pointed out architecture and installation as we walked, and for a few minutes, we talked about it like two people who still knew how to talk to each other.

Jason walked between us eating a soft pretzel, getting salt on his shirt, complaining cheerfully about nothing in particular.

I went off to buy us movie tickets. Three of them. I stood at the counter choosing the seats middle row, not too close to the screen because of Jason's eyes and felt something loosen in my chest.

I was walking back to where I had left them when I heard her laugh.

I knew it before I turned around. I knew it the way you know a sound that has haunted enough of your evenings that your body recognizes it before your mind does.

Monica emerged from the crowd looking like she had stepped out of a magazine. She kissed Jason's cheek.

Then she turned to Malcom and brushed her lips briefly against his in greeting—casual and familiar, the way you greet someone you see all the time.

The movie tickets felt very light in my hand suddenly. I looked at Malcom's face. He did not look surprised.

A cold weight dropped straight into my stomach. It wasn't a coincidence.

I was about to say something—some version of *what is she doing here* that I would have to phrase carefully so I didn't sound like the difficult, nagging wife when a voice boomed behind us.

"Mr. Grayson!"

A distinguished older man was crossing toward us, his wife gliding elegantly at his side. I watched as Malcom instantly straightened.

"Mr. Chen." Malcom extended his hand warmly. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"A happy coincidence," Mr. Chen said, surveying our group with the satisfied expression of a man who approves of what he sees. His gaze settled on Monica standing flush against Malcom's side, with Jason tucked comfortably between them.

"What a beautiful family, Mr. Grayson. Your wife is stunning. And your son—a fine boy."

The words landed like a blow somewhere in my sternum and stayed there.

*No.* I took one step forward, my mouth opening to shatter the lie, but neither of them corrected him.

Not Malcom. Not Monica, who merely smiled graciously, touched Malcom's arm, and said something warm and charming that made Mr. Chen laugh.

Not even Jason, who straightened up with pride and said thank you in the polished way I had spent years teaching him to address elders.

I was standing four feet away, entirely erased.

Mrs. Chen had already turned to Monica, her eyes bright with admiration.

"Is that a rare padparadscha sapphire? I haven't seen one of that clarity outside of an auction house."

Monica's face lit up with genuine pleasure. "You have an extraordinary eye, Mrs. Chen. I found it in Colombo—there's a jeweler there who sources directly from the mines in—"

I stopped moving. I watched the couple completely glaze over how elegant "Mrs. Grayson" was.

I watched my husband laugh at something Mr. Chen said, his eyes filled with pure relief and corporate greed. I watched Jason tug Monica's sleeve and whisper something that made her look down at him with open affection. I watched Mrs. Chen link her arm through Monica's as if they were old friends reuniting.

Monica was a perfect fit for his high-society world, facilitating a multi-million dollar merger on the spot.

I was behind a pillar by then. I don't know exactly when I had drifted there, completely hidden from their view.

"Let's have lunch, we can discuss art while the men talk business," the foreign dignitary's wife suggested.

Malcom's face was a portrait of pure satisfaction. "We'd be honored, Mrs. Chen."

We.

They began to move, all of them, the whole warm, laughing constellation of them, turning toward the restaurant wing. No one looked back. No one scanned the crowd. No one noticed I was missing.

I stood behind the pillar with three movie tickets in my hand and watched until they rounded the corner and were completely gone.

The tickets were printed on thick card stock. Good quality. I had been pleased by that when the machine dispensed them, a small, stupid thought that now felt entirely pathetic.

A wave of crushing, hollow humiliation washed over me.

I had dropped everything, sacrificed a meeting, and rescheduled my entire life again just to accommodate my family because I thought they finally wanted me. And they hadn't even thought about me once.

With a sharp, tight motion, I crumpled the tickets in my fist and threw them into the nearest trash bin.

I sucked in a deep breath. Breathed in. Breathed out. I had to stop crying. I had real work to do.

Turning on my heel, I walked toward the exit. Outside, the afternoon air hit my face, shocking me back to reality. I raised my hand for a taxi, stopped by the mansion just long enough to retrieve my portfolio from the glove box, and headed out again.

I had somewhere important to be.

------

The receptionist at Luxe & Legacy Group greeted me warmly, an unexpected kindness that nearly undid the fragile composure I was clinging to.

A woman in a sharply tailored suit came to meet me personally. She introduced herself as the assistant to the executive director, took my portfolio with both hands as though it genuinely mattered, and led me to a quiet waiting area with the manner of someone who had been eagerly anticipating my arrival.

“I’ll have this processed immediately,” she said with a sincere smile. “We’ve been looking forward to reviewing your collection, Miss Crystal.”

I returned a small, grateful smile. Hearing my professional name aloud felt like an awakening. I sat down on the cool, firm leather chair.

I don't know how long I sat there before I heard it.

Small feet. Running fast across the polished floor.

"Mom!"

The impact was immediate and TOTAL a small body launched itself into my lap with complete, fearless confidence. Tiny arms wrapped tightly around my neck, and a little face burrowed deeply into my shoulder.

The sheer force of the collision nearly toppled me off the leather chair.

I sat very still for a moment, completely stunned, my hands hovering in the air.

Then I looked down.

A little girl, perhaps four or five years old, was gazing up at me with enormous, luminous eyes, the kind of eyes that have not yet learned to hide anything. She was grinning radiantly, as though she had found exactly what she had been looking for.

A flustered nanny arrived seconds later, breathless and horrified, trying to detach her from my clothes.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am! She just ran. Stop it right now!" she scolded, reaching for the child.

"It's alright," I said, my voice coming out much softer than I intended.

I looked at the little girl, who remained firmly attached to my arm, showing absolutely no signs of releasing her grip. She smelled of something sweet, like vanilla, and her dark hair was escaping from two lopsided pigtails that someone had attempted and mostly failed to secure.

Looking into her innocent face, I felt something profound in my chest shift.

She gave me an adorable, gap-toothed smile that made my heart thoroughly melt.

"What's your name?" I asked gently.

She beamed at me, entirely delighted, like I had asked exactly the right question.

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