A Regret Called Love

After the divorce, Adrian Grint and I were supposed to be done with each other. A clean break.
He got engaged to his childhood sweetheart, and our son, Leo, finally got the new mother he’d always wanted.
I moved out, ready to start a new life.
Then, one day, my best friend sent me a viral video.
A family of three, skiing in the Swiss Alps, caught in an avalanche.
The mother bolted, leaving the father and son to be swallowed by a tidal wave of snow.
When the blizzard of white settled, the two figures left behind, their faces as dark as thunderclouds, were none other than my ex-husband and my son.
My friend’s laughter crackled through the phone. “So that’s Adrian’s one true love? I could die laughing.”

1
“Everyone thought she was the one, but she just couldn’t stick the landing. One step away from marrying into a fortune, and now Maggie’s future is looking… precarious.”
Emma was on a video call while I was in the kitchen, carefully crafting a mousse cake for Ivy. The rich, tempting aroma of chocolate filled the living room, a sweet scent that always lifted my spirits.
Through the phone, Emma’s voice dripped with undisguised schadenfreude.
My divorce from Adrian had been messy. The whole city of Aurelia knew he’d left me to be with his decade-long flame, the supposed love of his life—Maggie.
“And your little traitor of a son, landing a stepmom like that? Well, his future just got a whole lot more interesting,” she added.
Ever since the divorce, Emma had taken to calling Leo “your little traitor.”
Honestly, I didn’t care much about what happened to them anymore. To me, they were just strangers.

2
After finishing the cake, I tapped on the video.
It was eerily similar to a scene from a disaster movie. An outdoor restaurant nestled at the foot of a snow-capped mountain. Tourists were leisurely enjoying their breakfast when, in the distance, a wall of white began to tumble down.
Chaos erupted.
One second, Maggie was tenderly cutting a steak for Adrian and Leo, the perfect picture of a loving mother. The next, her face went pale, a terrified shriek escaping her lips as she flung her fork down and ran for her life.
The fork even ricocheted off Adrian’s face, poking him near the eye. He cried out, clutching his face, unable to move. Leo, trapped behind him at the table, was stuck.
As the avalanche thundered closer, a torrent of white death, pure, unadulterated terror washed over his small, pale face. His voice, thick with tears, screamed in Maggie’s direction.
“Mommy, save me!”
But the only answer he received was the cacophony of panicked screams that filled the air.
As it turned out, it was a false alarm. The avalanche stopped short of the restaurant.
When the snow dust settled, the camera zoomed in on the father and son, their faces a mask of stunned fury, blacker than the bottom of a burnt pot.

3
The video was everywhere, and the comment section was on fire.
[LOL, so art really does imitate life. And life is way more messed up.]
[When disaster strikes, the mother ditches her husband and kid to save herself. Classy.]
[Can we get a camera on the son’s face? I need to see the therapy bills racking up in real-time.]
[I give this marriage six months, tops.]
[UPDATE: Sleuths in another thread figured it out. She’s the fiancée, and the kid is his stepson.]
[Ohhhhh, that makes a twisted kind of sense.]
[I knew it! No real mom would ever do that. I mean, maybe the husband isn’t your blood, but your own son?!]
[Wait, she still ditched her future stepson at the first sign of trouble. What kind of person does that?]

4
“And that, my friend, is the difference between a real mom and a stepmom,” Emma said, her voice softening with memory. “Remember that time we were at that mountain lodge? When you shielded Leo from that dog and almost got your arm ripped off, but you never let go.”
She was right. Two years ago, her little princess, Sophie, had wanted to see the great outdoors, and Leo had begged to go along. So, a few of us moms packed up the kids for a spontaneous trip to the Rockies.
While we were hiking near a remote cabin, a massive, snarling dog—some kind of Caucasian Shepherd—broke loose and charged our group.
The beast, as tall as a man when it reared up, was on Leo in a heartbeat. My own heart stopped. There was no time to think. I launched myself forward, wrapping my body around my son. The dog’s teeth sank into my arm.
The other adults screamed, their faces white with horror, and the children were wailing. Thankfully, the owner heard the commotion and came running.
It was winter, and my thick coat had saved me from the worst of it, but my arm was still a bloody mess. When I took off the jacket, I saw the deep, gruesome puncture wounds. They eventually healed, but the scars remained.
I remember once, I rolled up my sleeves, and Leo saw them. The look of disgust on his face is burned into my memory.
“Mom, your arm is so ugly,” he’d said. “Maggie’s arms are perfect and smooth. No wonder Daddy loves her.”
I knew. It wasn’t just his dad who loved her. He did, too.
Back then, Leo’s greatest wish was to trade me in for a new mom, for the beautiful, perfect Maggie to be his mother instead.
In the end, he got his wish.
And it was around then that I stopped expecting anything from either of them.

5
The long weekend ended. On Monday, I drove Ivy to school.
At the school gates, I handed her the lunchbox I’d prepared, filled with a fresh fruit platter and a slice of the mousse cake. "I packed a lot, so remember to share with your new friends at lunch," I reminded her gently.
Ivy had just started first grade at this prestigious prep school and was still settling in. She stood on her tiptoes and planted a sweet kiss on my cheek. "I will, Aunt Stella. I'll share!"
"Bye, Aunt Stella!"
I kissed her forehead. "Bye, sweetie."
I watched her small figure disappear into the school building before turning to leave.
"I heard you're working as a nanny now." A voice laced with scorn cut through the air. "Figures. Without my dad, you're nothing."
I turned. Leo was getting out of a black Rolls-Royce, a sneer plastered on his face. I’d almost forgotten he went to the same school.
He was my son, yes, but at that moment, he felt no different to me than any of the strangers brushing past me on the sidewalk. I didn't even want to waste my breath on a reply. I simply started to walk away.
"You're living so close to us," he called after me. "Don't tell me you're still hoping to get back with my dad."
Leo always knew how to twist the knife. He was only eight, but he’d long since mastered the art of psychological warfare.
I stopped and turned to face the small boy. The boy I had poured my youth, my love, my entire being into raising. Now, we stood on opposite sides of a chasm, ice and fire, looking at each other with mutual disdain.
"Relax," I said, my voice calm. "I have zero interest in your father. By the way, I heard you all went skiing in the Alps. How was it? Fun?"
I knew exactly which buttons to push. A flash of angry humiliation crossed his face.
I gave him a cool, placid smile and walked away.

6
"Was that your son?"
The voice, cool and sharp, came from the back seat as soon as I got in the car. I straightened up instantly, clicking my seatbelt into place. In the rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of Ethan Holt.
He was dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit, his handsome face set in a frown, his brow furrowed. His gaze met mine in the mirror, waiting for an answer.
Under that weight, I could only manage a quiet, "Yes."
A short, sharp sigh escaped his nose. "Stella Song, your life is a tragedy. A husband and a son cut from the same treacherous cloth."
He was my employer now. I couldn't argue.
Besides, he wasn't wrong.
Then, as if remembering a crucial detail, I added weakly, "Ex-husband."

7
I had lived with the Holts for three years when I was younger, so Ethan and I knew each other well. Ivy was the daughter of his sister, Eliza.
And Eliza had been my dearest friend.
Six months ago, Eliza was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer and insisted on returning home from abroad. Ethan brought her back, along with a world-class medical team, but it wasn't enough to save her.
In her final moments, Eliza gripped my hand, entrusting her daughter, Ivy, to me. She made me promise to raise Ivy as my own, to be there for her as she grew up.
We met when we were twelve, were separated at eighteen, and at twenty-nine, she was gone.
After that day, I moved into the Holt residence to take care of Ivy. The house was fully staffed, with nannies and housekeepers, so they didn't really need me for the chores. I knew what Eliza was really doing. She must have heard about the state of my marriage. After all, Adrian was parading Maggie all over the city; it was impossible not to know.
Eliza had given me an excuse, a way out of the hell my marriage had become.
After divorcing Adrian, it felt like a heavy shroud had been lifted from my soul. I finally understood what it meant to find freedom by letting go. Before that, I had been prepared to fight Adrian for a lifetime, to drag him and Maggie down with me, refusing to grant him a divorce unless he gave me full custody of Leo.
But as it turned out, all my righteous determination had been utterly worthless.

8
Every day, I would take Ivy to school and pick her up in the afternoon. Having just moved back to the country, she was fascinated by everything. We’d often ditch the driver and wander hand-in-hand through bustling streets and quiet alleyways, marveling at the strange and wonderful trinkets sold at street stalls.
We’d sample all kinds of snacks—candied apples, churros, warm pretzels. I made a rule: one new treat a day, and only a small portion, so she’d still have an appetite for dinner. She was a wonderfully behaved little girl and never pushed for more.
Her small hand, soft and warm in mine, was a constant comfort. She would look up at me with her big, innocent eyes.
"Aunt Stella, can I try this one?"
"Wow, this is so yummy! You have to try it, Aunt Stella!"
Her sweet, melodic voice could melt the coldest heart. I hadn’t felt this kind of peace and tranquility in a very long time. It felt like a dream.
After Eliza passed, Ivy was lost in grief for weeks. She’d wake up from nightmares, sobbing uncontrollably, crying out for her mother. To distract her, I’d tell her stories about what Eliza was like as a little girl.
One night, I told her about a boy Eliza and I both had a crush on. That got her attention. She stopped crying, her curiosity piqued.
"What happened? Who did he choose?" she asked, her eyes wide.
I stroked her hair. "To save our friendship, your mom and I both decided to let him go. He ended up with someone else." I sighed dramatically. "Such a shame, he was so handsome. Looking back, I totally should have fought for him."
Ivy blinked her big, round eyes. "Was he really handsome? More handsome than my Uncle Ethan?"
I considered it for a moment. "Just as handsome as your uncle."
...
Night after night, I stayed by her side, and slowly, Ivy’s emotional storm began to calm. The nightmares faded, and she started sleeping through the night. But in their place grew a new kind of attachment. She became my little shadow during the day, and at night, she wouldn't fall asleep unless I was sitting by her bed.
It was a strange, new experience for me.
Why strange?
Because by the time Leo was four, he had already declared he didn't want to sleep with his mommy anymore. By five, he wouldn’t let me hold his hand or kiss his cheek. I used to think it was just boys being boys, naturally more reserved and less affectionate.
Then I found the videos on Adrian’s backup phone. Videos of him and Leo celebrating Maggie’s birthday.
In the videos, my son was clinging to Maggie, showering her with kisses, making her giggle with delight. The same son who was so cold and distant with me was a fountain of sweet affection for her.
"Happy birthday, Aunt Maggie! Hope you stay eighteen forever!" he chirped, his voice dripping with honey. "You're not just Daddy's one and only, you're my one and only, too!"
That was when I learned the truth. Every summer, Adrian would take Leo abroad for a month, claiming it was for an international summer camp. In reality, he was taking my son on vacation with his mistress. For years, they had traveled across Europe, North America, Asia. One year, they even went on a trip right under my nose, to a resort just a few hours away.
Staring at the phone, at the endless photos and videos of their perfect little family, a black wave of fury washed over me. I wanted to tear Adrian limb from limb. I wanted to burn his entire world to the ground.
How dare he?
How dare he take the son I had endured a day and a night of agony to bring into this world, the son who was my very life, and use him as a prop to win over his mistress? And to keep me in the dark, year after year, like a fool?
That night, I lost control. I threw the phone at Adrian's head with all my might. When he woke up, dazed and angry, and realized I knew, his reaction was chillingly calm.
"Since you know, let's get a divorce."
His casual tone, his complete lack of remorse, told me everything. He had been waiting for this. Maybe he’d even left the phone on the nightstand on purpose.
In that instant, my rage peaked. I launched myself at him, scratching and biting like a cornered animal. The commotion brought others running. Soon, my mother-in-law, Margaret, and Leo were at our bedroom door.
Seeing me attacking her precious son, Margaret’s face twisted in disgust. She ordered two maids to pull me off and throw me to the floor. When she found out why we were fighting, she sneered.
"Is that all? What man doesn't have a little fun on the side? It's your own fault for not keeping him interested. Don't be a sore loser and wake up the whole house."
Looking at this mother and son, with their completely warped sense of morality, a cold, hard resolve formed in my heart. Four words escaped my lips.
"I want a divorce."
"Fine," she shot back. "Leave Leo here and you can go wherever you want."
They wanted me to leave my son behind. In their dreams. One was a completely hands-off grandmother, the other a perpetually absent father. For eight years, I had raised Leo almost entirely on my own. Aside from that one month a year with his father, I was the one who managed every single aspect of his life.
I would fight Adrian to the bitter end. I would never, ever leave Leo with him.
From that day on, Adrian and I were locked in a cold war. He dropped all pretense, flying Maggie back to the country and flaunting her around Aurelia City.
One day, the private investigator I hired sent me photos. Adrian had taken Leo to see Maggie again, behind my back.
I exploded. But before I could even scream at Adrian, Leo spoke, his voice chillingly calm.
"That's enough, Mom. Stop shouting. I knew Aunt Maggie was back, and I wanted to see her. Just look at yourself, acting like a crazy person. What man could stand you? If I were Dad, I'd divorce you and be with Aunt Maggie too."
He paused, his gaze cold and steady. "You don't have to keep fighting. I won't choose you. I choose to be with Dad, Maggie, and Grandma."
In that moment, it felt as if the world stopped. I froze, staring at my own son as if he were a complete stranger.
Leo’s eyes were cold.
Adrian’s eyes were cold.
The looks of disgust and revulsion on their faces were identical. They looked at me as if I were a clown, a lunatic.
But I hadn't done anything wrong. Why? Why were they the ones looking down on me?
It was on that day, I think, that my heart turned to ash. I began to see my marriage for what it truly was.

9
Emma was throwing a housewarming party. I baked an apple pie and brought Ivy with me. I wasn't expecting to see a beautifully dressed Maggie there. She wore a simple yet elegant white dress, standing among a circle of socialites, laughing and nodding along to their conversation.
"Don't get the wrong idea, I didn't invite her," Emma whispered in my ear. "Your darling son brought her along."
Emma and I were close, which meant our kids were too. Her daughter, Sophie, was the same age as Leo; they were practically childhood friends. Emma’s husband, Julian, had become a major player in the city's business scene, his influence reaching every corner of Aurelia’s high society. For Maggie, getting close to Emma was a direct pipeline to the city’s elite circle of wives. Her presence here wasn’t surprising at all.
"We're not children. What is there to misunderstand?" I smiled at Emma.
She seemed to relax, squeezing my hand gratefully. "Good. Just so you know, I'm always on your side."
"Aunt Stella!" a bright voice called out. It was Emma's little princess, Sophie.
I knelt down, a wide smile on my face. "Sophie! It's been so long. How have you been?"
She nodded happily. "I'm great! Aunt Stella, did you make my favorite apple pie today? I can smell it already!"
"Are you part puppy? Your nose is amazing," I teased, gently pinching her nose. "Hey, Sophie, I want you to meet a new friend today. Ivy, come over here."
The two little girls hit it off immediately, holding hands as they ran off to play in the Frozen-themed castle in the backyard, with Sophie carefully carrying her beloved apple pie.
Emma watched them go, sighing. "See? Little girls are so much better behaved. Now that you have your own little princess, you're not going to forget about my Sophie, are you? She was just saying the other day that Aunt Stella makes the best mousse cake, the best apple pie, the best banana crepes… And that princess dress you made for her school play? She said it was prettier than any dress in a fairy tale movie and refused to take it off, even for bed. She's always saying, 'I wish Aunt Stella was my mommy.' Can you believe the nerve?"
I shot her a look. "Just spit it out. Stop with the theatrics."
Emma dramatically threw her arms around me. "You know me too well! The school play is coming up again. Please, would you grace us with your divine talent and make another dress for my Sophie?"
I chuckled. "It's just a dress. You don't have to lay it on so thick. You're so dramatic."
"Hey, a custom piece from the great Stella Song is a rare treasure! I was afraid you'd say no!"
I studied fashion design in college. I had a knack for it and a passion that drove me to constantly refine my skills. The clothes I made always had a unique flair, a design sensibility that rivaled international brands. And since they were custom, there was no risk of showing up in the same outfit as someone else. Over time, the socialite circle in Aurelia learned of my talent, and the requests started pouring in. But it was a hobby, not a profession, so I only took on a couple of projects a month, usually as favors for friends.
As Emma and I were discussing designs, an elegant woman in a black Chanel-style suit approached us.
"Excuse me, are you Mrs. Grint?" she asked me.
Though I didn't recognize her, I replied politely, "I am, but we've divorced. You can call me Ms. Song."
A look of embarrassment crossed her face. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't know."
"It's alright. Can I help you with something?"
She explained, "Well, I have a friend, Mrs. Sterling. Last year, her son got married, and my family and I attended the wedding. My daughter absolutely fell in love with the bride's wedding gown. She said she’d never seen anything so ethereal and beautifully designed, even more stunning than the gowns she’d seen on runways in Europe. She found out you were the one who designed and made it, and she's been begging me to find you ever since. Ms. Song, I know this is a long shot, but I was hoping you might consider designing a one-of-a-kind wedding dress for my daughter."
Mrs. Sterling? I remembered her. The wife of the Sterling Corp. chairman. Early last year, Adrian's company was trying to land a major project with Sterling Corp. To help seal the deal, I had agreed to design a wedding dress for her daughter-in-law. It was an incredibly intricate piece that took me nearly four months to complete.
"I'm very sorry," I said regretfully. "For personal reasons, I'm not taking on any new projects at the moment. I don't have the time or energy. I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you."
Her face fell. She opened her mouth to say something more, but seemed to remember my earlier words about my divorce. Her good breeding kicked in, and she simply offered a polite, strained smile.
"I understand. It was presumptuous of me to ask."

10
After the woman left, I asked Emma who she was.
"No idea," Emma said with a shrug. "I think she came with Julia, I don't know her."
We chatted for a bit longer, and then I went to the backyard to check on the girls. What I saw made my heart leap into my throat. Leo was holding Ivy's hand, standing at the very edge of a fifteen-foot-tall inflatable castle. They seemed to be arguing.
There were no safety mats on the ground below them. They were in a dangerously precarious position.
My heart skipped a beat. "Ivy!" I yelled, my voice sharp with panic.
They both turned to look at me.
And in that split second, disaster struck.
My brain hadn't even processed it, but my body was already moving, instincts taking over. I lunged forward.
I caught Ivy in a sliding tackle, my knees scraping against the ground.
Safe. She was safe.
Then I heard another sickening thud.
I whipped my head around. Leo was lying on the hard ground, his body twisted at an odd angle. He was staring at me, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief.
He couldn't seem to comprehend that I had caught someone else, and not him.
The shock quickly gave way to agony. He clutched his knee, his face contorting in pain. A guttural scream tore from his throat, followed by a torrent of loud, desperate sobs.

11
At the hospital, I saw Adrian for the first time in three months.
He hadn't changed. Still tall, still handsome. For a man in his early thirties, he had it all: looks, money, a successful career. It was no wonder Maggie was so desperate to lock him down.
Right now, though, his face was a dark, thunderous storm.
"Stella, how did our son get hurt?" he demanded.
"He fell," I said, keeping it simple.
"Why didn't you catch him? Leo said you could have..."
"I only have two hands."
"So?"
"So I caught Ivy."
Adrian stared at me, his expression a mixture of shock and utter disbelief. "Are you insane? Leo is your son!"
"Let me correct you," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "From the day we divorced, he stopped being my son. He's your son. And Maggie's."
We were standing in the hospital room. Maggie was right behind him, her face a carefully constructed mask of sorrow. But anyone could see it was fake. The avalanche incident was still a sore spot for her, and now this. In a way, it leveled the playing field between the "real mom" and the "stepmom." Neither of us looked good.
Leo lay in the bed, his leg in a cast. At my words, his lips trembled, and his eyes, red-rimmed, fixed on me. Adrian was speechless, his face frozen.
"It's getting late. I should go," I said, turning to leave. "Don't contact me unless it's an emergency."
A hand shot out and clamped around my wrist.
"How much?"
I turned back.
"Stella, how much are they paying you to be a nanny? I'll double it!" Adrian’s voice was a low growl, his grip crushing. "Can't you even look at your own son? Do you have any idea what could have happened if he'd hit his head?"
His voice rose to a roar. "Stella, are you even human? How can you call yourself a mother?"
His question was so absurd, I laughed. A cold, bitter laugh.
"You're right, I'm not fit to be a mother. But you are? A perfect husband and a model father?" I met his furious gaze. "We were married for eight years, and you cheated for eight years, taking my son on yearly vacations with your mistress. When we divorced, you left me with nothing, even framing me for cheating. Adrian, your shamelessness knows no bounds."
I turned my attention to the bed. "And as for your precious son, Leo, what was it he said? That I was a crazy person no man could stand? That if he were you, he would have divorced me for Maggie too? And let's not forget how he told me not to bother fighting anymore, because he wouldn't choose me. He chose you, Maggie, and his grandmother."
I locked eyes with the boy in the bed. "Leo, those were your words, weren't they? Have you forgotten so soon? Just because you're a child doesn't mean your words have no consequences. Our time as mother and son is over. It's time to accept it."
Leo's composure finally shattered. His eyes filled with tears that spilled down his cheeks.
Adrian looked as though I'd struck him. "How can you say something so cruel to him? Do you know the damage you're causing? He's just a child, abandoned by his own mother! How is he supposed to heal from that?"
Heal? I could barely heal myself. Who was I to worry about anyone else?
"And what about you two?" I shot back. "The things you said, the knives you twisted in my heart, what were they? It's okay for you to burn down my world, but I'm not allowed to light a single match? Don't be a hypocrite, Adrian."
With that, I didn't spare another glance for anyone in the room. I turned and walked out.
Behind me, I could hear Leo’s broken sobs.
I didn't slow down.

12
I met Adrian by pure chance.
After college graduation, a classmate mentioned her sister was making a fortune in sales at Grint Corporation—we're talking tens of thousands a month. At the time, my mother was sick, and I was desperate for money. My degree was in fashion design, but a junior designer role would only pay a fraction of that.
So, I applied for a sales position at Grint Corp.
What happened next was completely unexpected. I was a natural. For five straight months, I was the top salesperson. One day, I found myself in the elevator with the company chairman. He was surprisingly kind and chatted with me for a few moments. Then he asked if I had a boyfriend.
I was flattered and stunned, and I shyly shook my head.
He then announced he wanted to set me up with someone.
That someone was Adrian Grint. His son.
It sounds like something out of a fantasy, but it really happened. Adrian was young and impossibly handsome, with deep, striking features. I fell for him at first sight, though I was keenly aware of the gulf between our worlds. We had a simple dinner, exchanged numbers, and that was it.
Or so I thought.
But Adrian actually started pursuing me. Every week, he'd text, asking me to dinner or a movie. Slowly, I fell head over heels in love.
Soon, we were officially a couple. Three months later, his father was hospitalized. The diagnosis was terminal stomach cancer.
Adrian took me to see him. In the hospital room, the old chairman told me many things. He wanted us to marry quickly. He hoped I would support Adrian after he was gone, and he confided in me about the struggles the company was facing. Finally, he told me that Adrian could be stubborn and headstrong, and he asked me to be patient and understanding with him.
At the time, lost in the haze of new love, I didn't fully grasp the weight of his words. I just nodded and agreed to everything.
Adrian and I were married. That winter, his father passed away.
The following year, my own mother died.

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