Alpha's Discarded Luna (Talia) novel Chapter 70

Chapter 68

Talia’s POV

Aires’s gaze shifts to Robin, cold and assessing. “He’s not as innocent as he appears.”

I hesitate. I know Aeson: I have raised him, understand his

temperament. He was brought up with strict discipline; he doesn’t usually use such crude language. Something doesn’t

fit.

I crouch down to Robin’s level. “Robin, can you explain what’s been happening?”

His lower lip trembles. “I didn’t send any mean pictures to Aeson. I just posted those photos on Sprouty.”

“Sprouty?” I’m confused.

A teacher steps forward to explain. “It’s our kindergarten’s internal social platform. Each child has an account to share moments from their lives–it helps them connect with

classmates. But it’s completely private, only accessible to

students and teachers.”

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Essentially, a kindergarten version of Instagram, locked

behind school walls.

“Robin, may I see your Sprouty?”

He nods, handing me his phone without hesitation. I scroll through his feed.

Daily posts. Photos of meals I’ve cooked, snacks I’ve packed,

small moments of ordinary care. Below each post, a stream

of comments from other children:

“I’m so jealous!”

“I wish I could eat that.”

“Your mom is so amazing!”

One comment catches my eye: “Did your mom really make

all this?”

Robin’s reply: “Yes! My mom made everything!”

He notices what I’m reading and whispers, his voice small and ashamed. “The other kids always post pictures of food their moms make. I don’t know what my mom looks like. I 2/9

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< Chapter 68

didn’t want anyone to know I don’t have a mother.” His eyes fill with tears. “So I posted those photos. I’m sorry, Ms. Perseus. It’s my fault Aeson got the wrong idea.”

He reaches for the phone. “I’ll delete everything. I’ll make it

go away.”

The room softens. Even the teachers exchange glances of sympathy. A child so desperate for maternal love that he pretends his hired nanny is his mother–what’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with a little boy wanting to belong?

My heart aches for him. I gently pull the phone back. “Robin,

you don’t need to delete anything. Keep your memories.”

He looks up, uncertain. “But Aeson will be upset.”

“It’s alright.” I smooth his hair. “As long as no one gets hurt,

you don’t have to sacrifice your happiness to make others

comfortable.”

His small face relaxes. “Okay, Ms. Perseus.”

Aires’s voice cuts through like ice. “I want to see his phone.”

I frown. “You want to go through a child’s private photos? 3/9

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< Chapter 68

Don’t you think that’s invasive?”

His expression doesn’t change. “I know my son. Aeson doesn’t

lie.”

Before I can argue, Robin tugs my sleeve. “Ms. Perseus, if Mr. Perseus wants to see, let him. I have nothing to hide.”

The teacher watching us nods approvingly. Such maturity.

Such composure.

I consider for a moment, then make a decision. I don’t hand

Aires the phone. Instead, I turn to the teachers.

“Is there a way to project this? So everyone can see together,

not just one person’s interpretation?”

The head teacher nods quickly. “The conference room next

door has full AV equipment.”

We move rooms. Robin’s phone connects to the large screen.

I scroll through his Sprouty feed–innocent posts, photos of

food, daily thoughts. Nothing malicious. Nothing provocative.

I open his messages. Clean. Ordinary. Childish. 4/9

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“Nothing here,” I state flatly. “Can we finally agree Robin

didn’t deliberately provoke anyone?”

Imema’s voice rises. “Aeson mentioned Robin showed him

photos and videos. Check the camera roll.”

I glance at her, then open Robin’s photo album.

Pictures of me and Robin together. Selfies. Candid shots. Ordinary, sweet memories.

“Videos,” Imema presses. “Check the videos.”

I open the video folder.

Robin recording me in the kitchen, cooking. Robin capturing

ordinary moments–picking him up from school, walking together, laughing. Nothing unusual.

I click through, one by one.

Until I reach the video of Imema’s fall from the staircase.

Panic flickers across her face. “Turn it off! That has nothing to do with today!”

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I smile, cold and slow. “Let’s watch. Otherwise you’ll claim

Robin edited it to frame you.”

I press play.

The video shows a parent–child activity at the kindergarten. Aeson, having just won first place, is surrounded by admiring classmates. His face glows with pride.

A child’s voice: “Aeson, were those your parents at the game

today?”

Aeson hesitates, then nods.

Envious sighs ripple through the group. “Aeson’s dad is so handsome! He’s amazing!”

“His mom is so beautiful and gentle!”

Aeson preens under the attention, chin lifted, accepting their

praise like a prince.

Another child: “Aeson, I’ve never heard you talk about your

mom before. I thought you didn’t have one. What does she

do?”

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Aeson’s voice rings out, clear and proud: “My mom is a

pianoist. She’s incredible. In a few months, she’s going on a

world tour!”

Gasps of admiration. “Wow, Aeson! Is your mom really that

amazing?”

“Yeah, no wonder you kept her secret. If I had a mom that

cool, I’d hide her too so no one could steal her!”

A different child’s voice, wistful and sad: “I wish my mom was that great. She’s just a housewife. She stays home all day. My grandma says she’s useless. It’s so embarrassing. I never

want to talk about her. Aeson’s mom is so much better.”

Aeson beams, soaking in the comparison.

Another child: “Aeson, I saw a pretty woman dropping you off

at school a while ago. I thought that was your mom.”

Aeson’s face tightens. His voice turns dismissive, cold.

“No. She’s just the nanny.”

The video ends.

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Silence fills the conference room. Heavy. Absolute.

I stare at the frozen frame, something inside me crumbling to

ash.

Just the nanny.

Not his mother. Not the woman who carried him, birthed

him, nursed him through fevers, lost sleep over his illnesses,

sacrificed her career, her identity, her entire self for him.

Just the hired help, shortchanging all my emotions and

concern into petty cash.

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