A viral clip.
A successful man.
A concert crowd.
And one very public moment of betrayal.
I heard his car before I saw him—engine too desperate, like it was trying to outrun the damage already done. I didn’t move from the couch. I sat there, spine straight, heart hollow, folding Liam’s blanket over and over in my lap like it could stop my hands from shaking. The door creaked open, revealing him.
“Arianne,” Zach said, breathless. He closed the door behind him like this was still his home.
I looked up slowly, meeting his eyes. My husband. In the flesh. Still wearing the shirt from the night before—creased and tainted by the ghost of another woman’s perfume. His assistant. His alibi. His filthy mistress.
“You lied,” I said.
He flinched at how even my voice was. He probably expected fire. Instead, he got ice.
“Please, let me explain,” he said, stepping forward.
I held up a hand, stopping him at once. “Explain what? That you weren’t in Maldives? That the camera angle was misleading? That the arm around her wasn’t yours? Or that you somehow tripped and landed in her embrace while the crowd cheered?”
His lips parted. Nothing came out.
“You knew Liam wanted you there,” I said. “He asked if we could save a seat for you. He looked up at the screen and said, ‘Mom, that’s Dad!’—with pride, Zach. Pride.”
He winced at the coldness in my voice. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”
“But it did.” I stood now, slower than I wanted to, because grief weighs more than rage. “And what do I tell our son, huh? That his father skipped his favorite night to kiss his secretary under stadium lights?”
“You’re exaggerating. It wasn’t a kiss,” he roared, clenching his fist.
“You kissed her shoulder.” My voice cracked. “You smiled, Zach. You were proud of what you did.”
“I made a mistake, yes. But I am unfairly judged there.”
“No, Zach,” I whispered. “Your choices are made the moment you flirt with that woman.”
He stepped closer. “Ari—please. You know how hard this industry is. The pressure. The image. The partnerships. Sometimes it gets blurry—”
“I bore your son while you were building your empire,” I snapped. “There’s nothing blurry about betrayal.”
That shut him up. His lips stretched into a thin line. But that kind of silence makes you realize how many words were never said, and how many were just noise. I stared at him. Not the man I married, but the man he became—slick, tired, hollow, a cheat. Never enough to hold on to.
Then I walked over to the kitchen drawer—the one where I used to keep Liam’s vitamins and little love notes from when Zach still left them. Now, it held something else. I dropped the envelope on the marble counter, making his face pale.
“No.” He shook his head vehemently. “You’re not doing this, Ari. You’re upset, but you’re not—”
“I’m so done with you,” I said, my voice steady. “And not just with this conversation. With all the lies you made. With the emotional coupons you hand me every time you mess up and call it pressure. With being the woman you only remember when your guilt knocks louder than your ego.”
“This is absurd, Ari,” he snapped, gritting his teeth.
“You know what’s absurd? It’s that you tried your best hiding your affair, but you didn’t succeed.”
He looked down at the papers in his hand like they burned in his palm. Heavy. Final.
“So, you’re ending our marriage over a camera clip?” he asked, smirking.
I squared my shoulders and glared at him. “I’m ending it because you taught me something last night.” I paused, my voice barely above a whisper. “I realized that love doesn’t always die in shouting. Sometimes, it dies in the silence after a song ends—and the person you were waiting for… never showed up.”
“Come on, Arianne. We could settle this like we always do.”
“Stop right there,” I immediately cut him off. I leaned in, our faces hairbreadth as I went on, “I had no idea what’s happening between you and Celine behind closed doors, but what I saw was enough for me to give up this marriage. You ruined my trust, Zach.”
He looked at me like, really hard. “Fine. You asked for it. My lawyer will send you a copy after I sign the papers.”
“Tell Liam whatever truth you think he can carry,” I added. “But know this—he saw you before I did.”
Then he turned away. He didn’t apologize, just shut the door closed behind me.
Morning came slowly each passing day. The house felt too quiet—like even the walls were trying to make space for the fallout. I stood by the kitchen sink, watching sunlight pour over the untouched breakfast table.
There were no coffee cups anymore. No phone calls buzzing from Zach’s office upstairs. Just the sound of Liam’s pencil scratching faintly against paper in the living room. He wasn’t asking questions. And that, somehow, hurt worse. I carried a glass of water to him, watching his small hands trace lazy shapes in his notebook.
“Draw anything good?”
He held up the page. It was a cartoon version of the concert crowd. He’d drawn me and him, hands up in the air, smiling—before the moment everything flipped.
“Memory rewrite,” he said with a grin.
A part of me cracked open at that. Not from sadness, but from the quiet strength in his voice. That my ten-year-old, sick as he was, understood something I had spent years ignoring.
I kissed the top of his head. “You want to talk about it?” I asked gently.
He looked up, eyes tired but sharp. “Everyone at school saw the clip.”
I sat beside him. “I know.”
He pressed his lips together and carefully asked, “Did you give him the divorce papers already?”
I nodded once. “Yeah. The day after the concert.”
He exhaled like a grown man. “He texted me yesterday. Said he might come by today,” Liam added, almost like an afterthought. “But I told him not to.”
I blinked. “You did?”
Liam shrugged. “And I don’t want to see him…yet.”
“Me too.”
Liam held my hand and said, “Don’t worry, Mom. I will never hurt you like what he did. I will protect you…always.”
My chest tightened at the sincerity of his voice. I had to bite the tears back to my throat.
Around noon, I took my time at the grocery store. Touched things I didn’t need. Read labels I already knew by heart. Maybe it was the illusion of control—choosing brands, checking expiry dates, when everything else in my life had rotted quietly behind my back. I was halfway through the produce aisle when I heard a familiar voice.
“Arianne?”
I turned. It was Celeste Santiago, our neighbor three blocks away—the one who throws brunches with pastel cupcakes and has a husband who only wears golf shirts. Her eyes were wide with concern. But behind it, curiosity burned like a poorly hidden candle.
“Oh my God,” she said in a hushed tone. “I wasn’t sure if I should even say anything, but… I saw that video. The concert. The… um… Kiss Cam thing.”
I smiled politely. “A lot of people did.”
She blinked, startled at how steady I was. “I just… I can’t believe he would do that. And with her? Isn’t she like… his intern or something?”
“Assistant,” I said simply, inspecting a lemon. “Though clearly, she’s been promoted.”
Celeste chuckled nervously. “I mean, I just wanted to say—we’re all behind you. Like, team Arianne all the way. If you ever want to talk, or come by for sangria night…”
“That’s kind,” I said, placing the lemon in my cart. “But I think I’ve had enough sour for a while.”
She blinked again. I didn’t fill the silence.
She shifted her weight awkwardly. “Well, anyway. You’re handling it all with so much grace. Honestly, if it were me, I’d beat the shit out of them.”
“Trust me,” I said, pushing the cart forward. “The temptation was there.”
I left her standing there with a polite nod and a heart that felt a little heavier than when I walked in. Back in the car, I sat with the engine off. Grocery bags filled the backseat, my fingers tightened around the steering wheel as if I could squeeze the ache out of my chest. The video didn’t lie. But it didn’t tell the full story either.
By the time I got home, the sun had dipped low. I walked in to find Liam curled on the couch, cartoons playing quietly. He smiled when he saw me—like nothing had changed. Like he was still my anchor.
I ruffled his hair, kissed his forehead, then excused myself to the study. That’s where I noticed a white envelope sitting on the desk. My pulse slowed as I pulled out the photo.
It was my husband. In an expensive suite. Shirtless. Leaning over Celine. It was clearly taken in secret—but the intent was unmistakable.
And on the back, in careful handwriting: The concert was only the beginning. You deserve the truth.
My tears ran out days ago. What remained was a quiet burn. Like embers refusing to die. It’s devastating, yet I was trying to move on—slowly. But that photo… it clawed its way back into my mind at random moments.
The handwriting on the back of it was neat, slanted slightly to the right. It reminded me of someone who paid attention to detail. Not vindictive, but intentional. It didn’t feel like a threat, but more like a warning.
I took it out again, holding it by the edges like it might burn me. I stared at the watermark I hadn’t noticed before—GoldPix Studios. That was where Zach used to have his early promo shoots back when his label was just starting out. He mentioned it once—said they used to rent a suite at the back for after-parties which I now suspected meant champagne-fueled hookups and egos on full display.
The burn in my chest grew into something sharper. Sure, I wanted answers. But more than that, I wanted control over my life again. I was pouring Liam’s milk when the headlights flashed across the window. My heart constricted inside my chest.
Only one person still drove that matte black Lexus and had the nerve to show up unannounced. The doorbell rang once. Twice. Thrice. I took a breath, gathering all the courage I could muster. My hands trembled slightly as I opened the door. I hated that he could still get under my skin.
“Arianne,” he said softly, like my name was a bruise he wanted to press gently.
I didn’t budge. “What do you want, Zachary?”
“I thought we should talk,” he began. “About Liam. About us.”
“There is nothing to talk about,” I said, voice flat. “Not anymore.”
He looked down, pulled something from his coat. An envelope. He held it out like a peace offering.
“I know you agreed,” he said. “My lawyer was supposed to bring this to you, but I decided to hand it to you in person. Closure.”
I gave a hollow laugh. “That’s rich coming from someone who got caught on national television. You didn’t just ruin a marriage. You made a mockery of it.”
Closure. Such a neat little word for a war that wrecked me. I didn’t reach for the envelope. I reached for the only thing I had left—my dignity. I was about to slam the door in his face when a quiet voice interrupted us.
“Dad?”
I craned my head to look at my son. Liam stood on the staircase in his dinosaur pajamas, rubbing his eyes.
Zach’s expression softened immediately. “Hey, buddy.”
Liam didn’t move. “Why are you here?” he asked flatly.
Zach hesitated for a second and continued. “I came to see how you’re doing. I brought the—”
“I told you not to come,” Liam said, voice steady.
Zach blinked, stunned. “I know. I missed you, buddy. I just thought maybe you want us to bond like we used to.”
“How could you do that when you’re with her?” he asked in a soft, low sheepish voice.
“Liam, I can always find time for you, you know that, right?”
“I doubt it. Tell me, Dad, are you gonna marry your assistant now?”
Silence wafted in the air. My son’s question was direct, unfiltered, and a jab to his innocent heart. I was hurt by the raw pain I saw in his eyes, yet I had to compose myself.
Zach cleared his throat. “It’s complicated, Liam.”
“I’m sick and you made Mom cry.” Liam sobbed, eyes misting from tears. “I hate you, Dad!”
Zach opened his mouth, but no words came out. He tried to step inside the foyer but I stopped him.
“You should go now.”
Zach’s jaw clenched. “Arianne, he’s my son.”
“Exactly.” My voice shook, but I held the line. “He’s not your PR redemption arc. He’s not your pity project now that your scandal broke into a million headlines. He’s a child. And you don’t get to drop in like this and pretend like you didn’t torch our entire lives.”
He shifted slightly, one foot still on the welcome mat like he couldn’t decide if he was intruding or entitled. “I didn’t plan for it to happen like this. Celine—she’s a wonderful woman—”
I raised a hand, stopping him curtly. “I don’t care about your spin. I care about my son’s heartbeat not rising every time he hears a car in the driveway.”
He looked down, sighing, and finally dropped the envelope on the shoe bench beside the door. “Fine. I’m not here to ask for forgiveness anymore. Just read the terms.”
I watched him strode toward his car. Once I locked the door, my phone vibrated in my pocket. A message from an unknown number.
You believed he’s there for closure?
You should read the fine print, Arianne.
I fumbled for the envelope Zach left earlier. I’d assumed it held divorce papers. But when I ripped it open and pulled out the stack of documents—it had two documents inside. One was for divorce petition and the other was a petition for full custody of Liam.
Filed by Zachary Hatton. And co-signed by Celine Lovelet.
My world lurched sideways. My knees buckled against the edge of the counter as reality sank in. They were never going to stop at betrayal. They weren’t just playing house.
They were planning to steal my son!
The bile in my throat rose so fast I nearly choked on it. I flipped through the pages, hoping this was some cruel mistake. But every line was deliberate.
Zach’s signature, the request for primary physical custody, and a clause buried halfway through: Co-guardianship requested with Ms. Celine Lovelet, long-term partner and medically authorized caretaker.
“Caretaker?” I laughed bitterly.
She was a homewrecker in heels, not a damn nurse. The front doorbell rang again. For a second, I thought it might be Vega, but when I peeked through the peephole, it wasn’t him.
It was Neil Vega—the man I hadn’t seen for years.
My heart hammered so hard I thought Liam might hear it upstairs. I opened the door on trembling feet. Neil stood in the porch light, coat drenched from the rain, face pale and firm. He looked brittle—like a storm about to break.
“Arianne.”
I wanted to shut the door. Bolt it. Pretend he’d never shown up. But something clicked—fear, curiosity, the need for answers. I let him in but he stayed in the threshold.
“What brings you here, detective?”
He cleared his throat. “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”
“Find out what?” I said, voice as cold as the rain.
Neil’s eyes flicked to the kitchen counter, to the custody papers splayed out like a betrayal. Then back to me. “About the photo… I took it. I sent it,” he said, his voice turning octave.
My hands shook. “Why?”
He exhaled, muscles tense. “Because Zach was spiraling. I wanted to wake you up. Show you who he really was, before he could drag you and your son into the wreck. My agency had been tracking some of his associates during his PR fallout; I noticed things. I didn’t mean to pry in your private life, but your husband had been under our investigation for months.”
My forehead scrunched. “What do you mean by investigation?”
“Embezzlement, sort of corruption in his business,” Neil shrugged.
This—custody filing, betrayal, feeling like a stranger in my own life—made me want to scream. Instead I found my voice icy calm. “Your idea of saving me was sending evidence… to myself?
Neil met my gaze. “I wanted to help you, Arianne,” he said, voice firm but gentle.
“Why, Neil? Do I look like a charity case to you?”
“I didn’t say you are… But I know you need my help, that’s why I’m here.”
I pulled out a heavy, frustrated breath. “I appreciate your help, but my lawyer will handle the legal matters prior to my case.”
Neil gazed at me—with longing. We were silent for a second, just looking at each other like the first time we met. After a long beat, he exhaled a deep breath and gently held my hand.
“Listen, I can gather everything—the evidence, statements, records. We’ll build something real against Zach’s custody filing.” He took out a card from his coat and put it on my palm. “I’m only one call away, Arianne. Don’t shut me out of your life this time.”
I swallowed hard. He was offering protection again—the kind I thought only a blade or a lawyer could wield. But now it came from regret and professional integrity. Without trusting myself to speak, I nodded faintly. My throat felt dry, raw. All the embers of hurt and hope flickered inside me, colliding.
As he turned to go, I paused before stepping forward. Even in that second, I found myself stepping into familiar rhythms, calling back memories I’d tried to bury. Neil once saved me, in small ways that became big. Maybe he still can. He disappeared into the drizzle, but in my chest, something sparked: a fragile, dangerous, determined flicker.
I was no longer watching from the sidelines.
I was preparing to fight.
“Are you ready for today?”
“Yes, Mom!” Liam answered, chuckling sweetly.
It was another check-up day for my son and as usual my heart bleeds every single time we’re in the clinic. Dr. Beltran wanted to monitor his breathing patterns again after last month’s mild asthma flare-up. I had called the school ahead—his absence was excused.
The pediatric ward was unusually quiet when we arrived. A soft hush blanketed the hallways, interrupted only by the muted squeak of nurses’ shoes and the distant beep of machines. The fluorescent lights overhead cast sterile halos along the tiled floor, and the smell of antiseptic clung to the air.
“Liam Josef Hatton,” the nurse called, smiling warmly. “Dr. Beltran will see you now.”
“Will you be okay without me inside?” I asked, smoothing the collar of his jacket.
“Yeah. See you in a bit, Mom.” He nodded confidently and kissed my cheek before heading into the consultation room.
The moment the door shut, a quiet ache pulsed in my chest. I knew it was routine—nothing to panic over. But lately, my fears have grown less about medicine and more about lawyers. Zach’s petition for full custody had arrived like a bombshell wrapped in civility. Every word in that document chipped away at the life I had fought to keep whole.
The thought of losing Liam… of handing him over to someone who had ripped our family apart? It made my blood run cold.
I turned to pace the hallway, trying to settle my nerves—when I saw her.
Celine.
She was striding toward me like she owned the damn place. That same flawless face, hair swept back into a sleek low bun, makeup pristine. A designer coat hugged her frame, and in her arms, an expensive purse I bet Zach bought for her. She smiled like this was brunch, not a confrontation.
“Hello, former Mrs. Hatton,” she jeered, giving me a once-over glance.
I stopped mid-step. “What are you doing here?”
Her heels clicked softly as she slowed. “I heard Liam had a check-up.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you stalking us now?”
She rolled her eyes with a slight chuckle. “Don’t be dramatic, Arianne. I just came to talk. Woman to woman.”
I should have walked away. Should have told her to stay out of my sight. But I didn’t. Maybe because the fire inside me wanted a closer look at the woman Zach had risked it all for.
I walked past her. “Fine. Five minutes. That’s all you get.”
We ended up at the hospital coffee shop, tucked in a quiet corner booth. Celine sat across from me, perfectly poised. “You look tired,” she said, stirring her tea.
“I am tired,” I replied, not bothering with fake smiles. “Because I’m raising my son while cleaning up after your affair.”
Her expression didn’t falter. “You should stop looking at me like I’m the villain. Zach made a choice. I didn’t force him.”
A bitter laugh escaped me. “You seduced a married man and now you’re surprised he left?”
She smiled again, slower this time. “He didn’t just leave, Arianne. He left for me. He told me things he couldn’t say to you. That he was suffocating. That he wanted someone who truly saw him.”
I clenched my jaw, blinking away the sting behind my eyes. “Don’t sit here and pretend your relationship was built on anything but betrayal.”
“Call it what you want.” She shrugged, then slid the folder onto the table and flipped it open. “But it doesn’t change the facts. Zach filed for primary custody. He wants Liam to live with us.”
Us.
That word sliced deeper than it should have. “He is my son,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t get to take him and play house.”
She didn’t blink. “He’s our son now. At least, he will be.”
I frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”
Celine pulled something from her folder. A small photograph. She placed it in front of me. I bit my inner cheek, holding back my tears.
“I’m twelve weeks,” she said, her tone light, almost smug. “A little surprise. Zach is over the moon.”
My breath hitched. I didn’t want to look, but I did. A blurry little bean floating in a sea of static glossy paper. My hands trembled slightly as I pushed it back toward her.
“You’re delusional if you think this baby gives you a claim over Liam.”
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “It’s not about claiming him. It’s about building a family. Zach wants us to raise them together. Liam deserves stability. And frankly—he deserves better than watching his mother spiral every time I’m in the room.”
I stood abruptly, the chair scraping the floor. “You think I’m spiraling? I am fighting for my son. For everything you destroyed!”
Celine stood too, unbothered. “Just don’t be surprised when the court agrees with us. A happy home, two siblings, and two unified parents. That’s what judges like to see.”
She gathered her coat and folder, then offered one last, venom-laced smile. “You can keep hating me, Arianne. But soon… Liam won’t be calling you for goodnight kisses. He’ll be calling me Mommy, too.”
I stood up, slowly and deliberately. Celine remained seated, her smile fixed like stone.
“Congratulations,” I said, my voice calm but cold. “I hope you enjoy what you stole.”
She blinked, surprised by the restraint.
“But remember this,” I added, leaning slightly toward her. “A love built in a lie cannot survive. Trust me, he’ll eventually dismantle you. And no, you cannot take my son away from me!”
I didn’t go back to the waiting area right away. My legs took me outside the hospital building, where the sun blazed like it had no idea my world was falling apart. The heat did nothing to chase away the chill inside my chest.
Celine’s words rang in my ears like cruel lullabies: “He’ll be calling me Mommy, too.”
The audacity. The cruelty. The threat. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, steadying myself before heading back up to the pediatric wing. I had to be strong. For Liam. For the only reason I was still breathing after everything Zach had done.
When I reached the hallway outside Dr. Beltran’s office, the door was already open. Liam was sitting on the cushioned bench, swinging his legs, humming to himself like nothing was wrong in the world.
“Hey, love,” I said softly, kissing his forehead.
He grinned. “Done already. Dr. B said my lungs sound better!”
I knelt in front of him, cupping his face. “That’s amazing. I’m proud of you.”
He smiled wider. “Can we get ice cream before we go home?”
I laughed, brushing his hair back. “Only if you promise not to tell Dr. B.”
“Promise!”
We walked hand in hand toward the parking lot. I could feel the tension loosening from my shoulders just being near him. But peace, I would learn, never stayed long.
We had just reached the pedestrian lane across the main driveway when I heard the screech of tires. A flash of silver. A scream—not mine, someone else’s—and then chaos.
It all happened too fast.
One second Liam was next to me. The next, he was thrown like a ragdoll.
“LIAM!”
My knees hit the asphalt before I even realized I was down. People shouted. A nurse was screaming. A car had slammed into the hospital signpost, smoke curling from its hood. Time blurred, slowed. I crawled to him, my palms scraping across the concrete.
He was still breathing.
His tiny chest moved. Blood streaked his temple, a gash splitting his eyebrow. One of his shoes had flown off. His arm bent at an angle it shouldn’t.
“Call an ambulance!” I shrieked, though we were already at a hospital. “Please, somebody help—my son—!”
Doctors and nurses rushed out, someone pulled me back as they hoisted Liam onto a stretcher.
“I’m his mother!” I screamed, trying to follow. “Let me in, I need to—he needs me!”
But a firm hand held me back.
And that’s when I saw him.
Zach.
On the far end of the sidewalk. Rushing in. His eyes wide, his suit half-wrung, like he had just dropped everything to get here.
“What happened?” he barked at the nurse. “Is that my son?!”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
It was Celine who appeared beside him—calm, cold, timed. She placed a hand on Zach’s arm, pulling him back with measured grace.
“How did you know it was coming?” I whispered, my voice shaking.
Celine tilted her head, eyes glinting like glass. “You think we’d let you keep walking him into danger?”
“What…?”
But she was already turning away. Later, in the waiting room, drenched in sweat and dried tears, a social worker came. She looked apologetic, but firm.
“Ms. Arianne Hatton, there’s concern about your ability to ensure Liam’s safety. Given the severity of the incident, and the pending custody petition, the court has ruled for a temporary emergency transfer.”
“What do you mean?” My throat dried up. “My son is going home with me.”
The social worker shook her head slowly. “No, ma’am. For now, Liam will be released into the custody of his father.”
“No, no, you can’t—this was an accident! I was with him! I was holding his hand!”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice soft. “But there are questions about supervision. About judgment. There was a claim made… that you were distracted, arguing outside the hospital. That you stormed off.”
My eyes widened. “That’s not true! Let me see my son,” I begged, voice cracking. “Please—just let me say goodbye.”
“Get lost, Arianne!” Celine muttered, walking past me with a venomous smile plastered on her lips.
The next day, I packed in silence. Every fold of clothing, every zip of the suitcase felt heavier than it should. I didn’t cry. I’d cried enough. Losing Liam’s custody left a hollow in my chest that no amount of tears could fill.
I slipped his drawing into my passport—a stick-figure version of us under a crooked sun. It was the only piece of him I could take.
At the airport, I kept my head down. The crowds blurred around me. I was just another woman flying away from something she couldn’t fix.
At the gate, I turned on my phone one last time.
Five missed calls. Three texts.
Zach: Where are you?
Zach: Let’s talk, Arianne.
Zach: Don’t do anything stupid.
I stared at the screen for a second then calmly blocked his number. And as the plane took off, I pulled the SIM out of my phone and broke it into pieces.
“Goodbye, Zachary…”
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