The Widower's Fury - Chapter 1

Three years. And now I was face-to-face with the beastman I’d forced to stay with me.

A chill shot down my spine.

Back then, he’d warned me viciously that I’d pay for what I’d done.

I hadn’t believed him. I’d carried on doing as I pleased, brushing his resistance aside.

Only later, when I saw the news, did I realize Song She wasn’t some discounted beastman I’d picked up at a roadside sale.

He was the only son of the staggeringly powerful Song family.

I’d grabbed the wrong person.

The Song She standing before me looked more mature than he had three years ago. His face had thinned, leaving his features sharper, colder.

He stared at the little boy clinging to my legs. His gaze abruptly turned icy.

The child held on tight, his soft cheek pressed against my leg like melting cream.

“Mommy smells so nice,” he kept murmuring.

Nervously, I pried at his little hands.

“Have you mistaken me for someone else?”

“Daddy, she smells like Mommy!” He stamped his foot, frantic, and refused to let go.

Song She raised his eyes and studied my face, his gaze distant and merciless.

My back prickled.

When we’d lived together, I’d left early and come home late.

At night, partly out of shyness and partly to save electricity, I’d always kept the lights off when we were together.

Even in the dark, his eyes had followed me everywhere.

They had the peculiar chill of a cold-blooded creature. I’d often covered them with my palm.

So… did he recognize me?

Just as I was finding it impossible to breathe, Song She frowned and snapped at the boy.

“Come here, sweetheart. She’s far too ordinary to be your mother.”

“But Dad, didn’t the doctor say you lost your memory? Do you really remember Mommy?”

The child inched toward him reluctantly, his eyes never leaving me.

Father and son looked alike. Even their stares were the same—like predators watching prey.

Cold sweat ran down my back.

At last, Song She tossed the boy into a luxury van. His gaze brushed over me.

“In any case, she can’t be your mother.”

I stood there, stunned.

Good news: Song She had actually lost his memory?

But if he ever remembered that I’d abandoned him and our child, that I’d once kept him with me for more than two weeks against his wishes, I was finished.

My face drained of color. I turned and hurried away.

Only when I was well clear of them did the weight lift from my chest.

I returned to my brother’s house.

The moment I opened the door, my little niece ran out and hugged my legs.

“Auntie, Mommy and Daddy are away for work again. I start my new kindergarten tomorrow, and a grown-up has to come. What am I going to do?”

Three years ago, to escape Song She’s revenge, I’d moved back to my hometown, a thousand kilometers away, and hidden out at my brother’s place.

He was a doctor. My sister-in-law was a firefighter.

I spent more time with their daughter than either of them did.

She was already wearing her dress for tomorrow at the new kindergarten. She held my hand, looking uncertain.

I gently rubbed her little cheeks, my heart aching.

“All right. I’ll go with you.”

Before we reached the kindergarten, my niece practiced her introduction very seriously.

“This is my auntie. She’s really nice to me. Mommy and Daddy are busy, but I’m a good girl…”

Even on the back of my electric scooter, she kept rehearsing.

But once we actually entered the classroom, she took one look at the dozens of wide eyes staring at us and clutched my hand.

“This is my mom,” she stammered.

Then she hid behind me.

I had no choice but to greet the other children for her.

“Hello, everyone. I hope you’ll all play with her.”

My gaze swept the room and landed on a child right in the middle.

My face froze.

Why was Song She’s son here, too?

This was the most expensive private kindergarten in town. My brother had needed connections just to get one place.

The little boy stared at me. Then he bit his lip, turned away, and curled up in a corner to play with blocks alone.

Some of the children laughed.

“He’s new! He doesn’t have a mommy! We’re not playing with him.”

I couldn’t help speaking up.

“We don’t say things like that. You won’t earn any little red flowers if you do.”

They fell silent at once and went off to play in their own groups.

Only the boy remained in the corner, cheeks puffed out, eyes rimmed red.

I looked at him once more, then spoke softly to my niece.

“I’m going to work. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

Less than half a day later, her teacher called.

My niece had fought with another child over something at school.

The other parent was already there, and he was being very forceful. He demanded that I come immediately.

“He insists on seeing you. He says he wants to know… what kind of mother raises a child like that.”