He scoffed, irritation twisting his face.
“A baby doesn’t need it. He won’t even know the difference. I do. I’m tired of being a nobody.”
That was the beginning of the fight that changed everything.
At first, we argued in low, tense voices. But soon, the words became sharp and cutting.
He blamed me. He blamed the baby. He blamed the world.
Then he cornered me in the kitchen, his eyes burning with entitlement.
“Give me the money.”
From the other room, Liam started crying.
In that moment, the choice wasn’t just about money.
It was about who I was as a mother.
“I won’t give it to you.”
Derek threw his hands up in frustration and stormed out.
That night, I sat beside Liam’s crib, rocking him as I cried.
Not just for the money—but for the future that felt like it was slipping away.
The next morning, I woke to a different kind of silence.
Cold. Empty.
Derek was gone.
My first instinct was to check on Liam.
He was crying, soaked and hungry. I changed him quickly, then searched the apartment.
That’s when I noticed it.
The envelope was gone too.
Hours later, Derek sent a message:
