Her fifth daughter died, so she deleted his bloodline. novel Chapter 47

Chapter 2

It was completely dark when I finally got home from work.

The front door stood open, and the entryway and living room were a mess.

The family portrait had been thrown to the floor. My son was hunched over it, scrawling across it in marker.

He had a pair of scissors in his hand, carefully cutting me out of the photo.

He kept muttering to himself.

“Ms. Reed should be in this picture instead.”

Once, I would’ve stopped him.

Now I walked straight past him.

Julian looked up from the couch when the door opened, his face already set.

“Do you know what time it is? Dinner isn’t even started, and Leo’s starving.”

I stopped in my tracks and looked between them.

For five years, no matter how late I came home or how exhausted I was, dinner had to be made, the floors had to be mopped, the laundry had to be done.

“There are leftovers in the fridge. Microwave it for three minutes.”

A thin smile pulled at my lips.

“You can handle that.”

Julian’s eyes went wide. He was on his feet instantly.

“You…”

“Mom.” Leo was still sprawled out on the floor, whining from the living room. “I want

you to cook. I don’t want leftovers.”

I was too tired to even look at them.

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I pushed open the bedroom door, and the blood drained from my face.

Papers had been torn and shredded all over the floor.

The vase, the lamp, the picture frames, everything had been smashed.

I rushed to the bedside, nearly tripping over the debris.

The box I kept on my nightstand had been knocked to the floor.

The vintage gold locket lay in pieces, scattered across the floorboards.

It was the last thing my mother had left me.

I always kept it in the box, tucked away for safekeeping.

I turned around. Leo was leaning against the doorframe, looking entirely too smug for a six-year-old.

“Did you break this?”

The boy, barely six, maybe seven, curled his mouth into a sneer.

“You’re always mean to Ms. Reed, and you never cook for me anyway. That’s what you get.”

My ears rang. I stared at my son, my eyes stinging.

I raised my hand and slapped him, hard enough to snap his head to the side.

My palm stung. My chest hurt worse.

This was the child I had held since the day he was born, the child whose first word had been Mom, and now he stood in front of me like a stranger.

Leo’s hand flew to his cheek. He looked up at me in shock, then fear.

A second later, his crying brought Julian to the door.

Julian scooped Leo into his arms, his face hard.

“Clara Vance! Did you just hit him? What’s wrong with you?”

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I barely heard him.

I crouched on the floor, numb, gathering the pieces of the locket one by one.

“Over a damn locket? Are you crazy? I’ll just buy you a new one!”

The jagged edges bit into my fingers. Blood dripped onto the floor.

When my

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