Chapter 4 I Am Not Your Mother
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Anthony’s frown deepened: “Are you really going to make such a fuss, Abigail? Don’t think I won’t do it.”
“Won’t you?” Abigail let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, I know you will. In fact, I bet you can hardly wait.”
“Abigail!” Anthony raised his voice.
Abigail just sneered: “I’ll draft the divorce agreement and send it to you in the next couple of days.”
Staying even a minute longer felt excruciating, and she turned to leave, but Anthony’s voice stopped her.
“Abigail, if you want a divorce, don’t ever think about seeing Marcus again,” Anthony declared, his voice cold and unyielding.
How ironic. She’d mentioned divorce first, but he was the one eager for it. Now he was playing victim and using their son as a
weapon.
Pathetic.
Without turning back, Abigail paused briefly. “Keep Marcus’s custody. I’m done being his mother.”
With that, she walked straight out of the hospital room.
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A faint smirk crossed Michelle’s lips before quickly shifting to feigned concern. “Anthony, don’t be rash. Go bring Abigail back.”
Anthony had lost all patience. “Let her make a scene if she
wants. Let’s cat.” He sat down and resumed his meal as if nothing had happened, while Diana busied herself peeling an egg for Michelle.
“Don’t worry, this is for the best. The sooner it ends, the better.”
Marcus offered Michelle a glass of milk. “That’s right, Michelle. Once Mom’s gone, you can stay with me forever.”
Michelle fondly ruffled his hair and took a sip of the milk.
The hospital’s harsh disinfectant smell stung Abigail’s nose, forcing up tears she’d fought hard to contain.
She couldn’t bear another minute there. All she wanted was to return home, gather her belongings, and escape the Robinson house for some solitude.
Numb from her injuries and mind empty, she shuffled out like a ghost, leaning heavily on her crutch.
She got into a taxi and called Amy.
Her best friend answered groggily, still foggy from last night’s drinks. But the sound of Abigail’s choked sob snapped her alert, and she rushed to dress and head for the Robinson house.
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By the time Amy arrived, Abigail stood ready at the door – crutch in one hand, suitcase in the other.
Amy jumped from her car, rushing to take the luggage and support her friend.
“What happened to you? You look terrible!”
Abigail shook her head. “Let’s just get out of here first.”
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Amy helped Abigail into the car. In the car, Abigail spent ten minutes recounting the events since yesterday. Amy grew so angry she slammed the brakes and pulled over.
“What? Anthony and your own son treated you like this? We’re going back to that hospital right now! I’ll make them pay!”
“Don’t,” Abigail grabbed her arm. “We’re divorcing anyway. There’s no point.”
Amy was still fuming, breathing heavily. After a while, she asked again, “Are you sure about this? Really going through with it? Divorce is no joke.”
“I’m sure.”
Abigail had never felt so calm inside. Eight years of her youth wasted, but at least she realized it wasn’t too late. “Amy, I need your help to find a lawyer.”
Amy patted her shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, leave it to me. I’ll find you the best lawyer. We’ll get what’s rightfully yours
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– Michelle won’t walk away with everything.”
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With her injuries and hasty departure, Abigail had few options,
so she accepted Amy’s offer to stay at her place.
Anthony completed the discharge procedures once medical staff confirmed Marcus and Michelle were getting better.
Diana then took them back to her place, explaining that Anthony’s too busy to care for them.
Shortly after, Anthony immersed himself in work following an incoming call.
After a night of heavy drinking at a social event, Anthony returned home with intense stomach pain. Usually, Abigail would be waiting for him with her special soup that effectively sobered him up and settled his stomach, preventing next–day hangovers.
Tonight, however, Abigail was nowhere to be seen.
“Amanda, get Abigail to make me some hangover soup,” he barked.
The maid hurried over. “Sir, Madam left this morning. She took all her things with her.”
Anthony’s brow creased in surprise. “Hmph, we’ll see how long she keeps this up.”
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5/12
He grabbed his phone and sent her a voice message. “Come back now. Don’t make me angry.”
A red mark flashed on screen – she’d removed him from her
contacts.
His face darkened. When he tried calling, the line was dead. Blocked.
“She’s really testing me,” he growled through clenched teeth. He turned to Amanda. “You. Call her.”
Amanda took out her phone and dialed Abigail’s number.
Abigail was changing her bandages. Seeing Amanda’s call, she thought she might have left something at the house and answered.
“Madam, please come back home. Sir is very drunk and his stomach is hurting. He needs your hangover soup.”
Abigail had to laugh. She remembered how Anthony used to look down at her soup, saying impatiently, “Soup again?”
Now, with divorce looming, suddenly he wanted it.
“If his stomach hurts, he can see a doctor. If he wants soup, he can ask a chef. Amanda, we’re divorcing. His problems aren’t mine anymore. Don’t call again,” Abigail said and ended the call.
The phone was on speaker, and Anthony heard every word
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clearly, his face darkening further, his fists clenching tightly.
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Amanda sensed something was wrong. In the past, no matter what Abigail was doing, she always centered her attention on Anthony. The madam she knew would never say something like this. It seemed like things were really changing.
Terrified, Amanda swallowed hard. “Sir, should I… make the soup for you?”
Anthony gritted his teeth, cold sweat dripping from the pain.
“No need.”
Amanda couldn’t help but cautiously ask, “Sir, are you and the madam… really getting a divorce?”
She could hardly believe it. Over the years, she had witnessed Abigail’s love for Anthony. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Abigail couldn’t breathe without him. Sure, they had fights before, and Abigail had thrown little tantrums, but they were always harmless. Anthony didn’t even need to coax her; she’d calm down on her own and return to being his housewife. She’d loved him so deeply, how could she suddenly ask for a divorce?
Anthony’s head started to ache from Amanda’s questioning, and he bit his teeth in anger. “Divorce? Hah, would she really leave me? She’s just throwing a tantrum, let her be.”
Then he made a call: “Freeze Abigail’s cards.”
He wanted to see how long Abigail could last without money.
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The next morning, Abigail fell into her usual routine of preparing breakfast. The enticing aroma drifted through the house, rousing Amy from sleep. She walked into the kitchen to find the table covered with an impressive array of dishes.
“Is this how you’ve been cooking every day since getting married?” Amy asked, her eyes widening at the sight.
Abigail smiled uncomfortably. She had indeed spent years. perfecting various dishes to accommodate Anthony’s sensitive stomach and particular tastes.
“That jerk had it too good,” Amy muttered, rolling her eyes.
Abigail settled into the chair opposite Amy as they started their meal.
“I’ve found a lawyer for you,” Amy said, sending a contact card to Abigail’s phone. The name Felix Rowe appeared on the
screen.
“Felix Rowe… why does that name ring a bell?”
“He’s my cousin,” Amy replied between bites of fried cgg. “Two years our senior, studied under Professor Swift with you. Remember him?”
Abigail thought back to her college days. Felix had been a star at law school – the professors‘ favorite and a top student who turned down a prestigious court position after graduation to
Chapter 41 Am Not Yo establish his own firm.
“When I told him about your case yesterday, I expected him to assign one of his lawyers. But he wants to handle it himself,” Amy explained.
Amy checked the time while finishing a bun, then stood to grab her jacket. “Get in touch with him to discuss details. I need to head to work.”
“Drive safely,” Abigail called after her.
Abigail sent Felix a friend request, and he accepted immediately.
“Hello Mr. Rowe, I’m Abigail, Amy’s friend. Could we meet today to discuss my case?” she messaged.
“Noon, Packton Garden Restaurant,” came his swift reply.
When Abigail’s card was declined at the fruit stand, she couldn’t help but sneer.
She knew Anthony was trying to corner her into contacting him, perhaps even surrendering.
However, he had underestimated her – she’d already set up contingency plans when she decided to pursue the divorce.
She quickly pulled out another card, paid for her fruit, and headed home.
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At the entrance, her phone rang – it was Marcus’s kindergarten teacher, sounding worried.
“Mrs. Robinson, could you come to the new campus? He’s hurt his wound while playing and won’t stop crying.”
Abigail’s heart lurched at the news. Her first instinct was to rush there immediately.
Then she remembered yesterday – Marcus clinging to Michelle, calling her “mom.” She froze.
“Mrs. Robinson? Are you there?”
The teacher’s voice snapped her back. Abigail bit her lip. “Sorry, Marcus’s father and I are divorced. Please don’t contact me
about him anymore.”
Stunned, the teacher looked at Marcus, who sat pale–faced and hurting on the bench.
“Marcus, would you like to speak to your mom?”
“Take me to the hospital. My wound opened up,” Marcus demanded.
His commanding tone was familiar to Abigail. She used to rush to his side at every call, fretting over the smallest illness, even wanting to stay at school with him. Over time, this had taught Marcus to treat her like his personal servant.
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But since Marcus rejected her as his mother, she had no obligation to cater to his demands.
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“Marcus, remember what I said yesterday? I’m not your mother anymore. Don’t call again,” she said firmly, hanging up quickly before his voice could weaken her resolve.
Marcus stood frozen, unable to process what had just happened. His mother, who would fret endlessly over even a scratch, had shown complete indifference to his injury.
The pain from his wound was getting worse. Confused and hurting, he did what any child would do – he called his father.
Anthony was in a meeting but rushed to his office after he answered Marcus’s call. He immediately dialed Abigail on the landline.
“Marcus is hurt. Go take him to the hospital. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Abigail set down the freshly washed fruit and laughed bitterly. “So you only remember me when it’s convenient? I’ve made. myself clear – I’m no longer Marcus’s mother. Whatever happens between you two is none of my concern.”
Hearing this, Anthony slammed his hand on the table in anger. “Abigail! You’re going too far. Marcus is your kid. Even if you’re upset, don’t take it out on him!”
His words struck her as absurd. Where was this concern when his mother tried to take Marcus away? Why hadn’t he defended
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her rights as a mother then?
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Now that the boy was hurt and needed a caretaker, he suddenly remembered her role.
“Anthony, Marcus made it clear he doesn’t want me as hist mother. I’m simply honoring his choice. Until you have the divorce papers, please – you and all the Robinsons – stop calling me.”
She ended the call without another word.
Anthony never imagined that one day Abigail would speak to him in such a tone. He was stunned for a good while before he came to his senses, his face pale with anger and shock.
A restless unease gnawed at him, making it hard for him to sit still. Their past arguments had never left Abigail this determined, and she’d never been so cold toward Marcus. It seemed this time, she was determined to make a stand.
Marcus’s situation couldn’t wait, and Anthony couldn’t leave the meeting. With no other choice, he called Michelle, who was still recovering.
She was tending to flowers in the Robinsons‘ garden when her phone rang. Hearing about Abigail’s refusal and noting Anthony’s distress, she smirked and dialed Diana’s number.
“Diana, Marcus accidentally tore his wound at school. The school called, and Anthony asked me to pick him up,” Michelle informed.
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Diana was out shopping at the time and got anxious upon hearing this. “What? Is it serious?”
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“It shouldn’t be serious, otherwise the school would have sent him to the hospital,” Michelle reassured.
Diana breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re still recovering, and Anthony really shouldn’t be asking you to go. What’s that useless mother of his doing?”
Michelle’s lips curled into a cold smile, but her tone was full of concern. “Diana, I’m feeling uneasy about this. I thought I’d call you to check if Abigail is still upset about yesterday’s incident and is angry with Anthony? She just refused to pick up her son!”
