Chapter 3

That night, Sofia knocked on my door, asking if she could sleep with me.

As I tucked her in, I felt her trembling. "What's wrong?" I asked.

Sofia peeked out from under the covers, saying in a muffled voice, "I watched the movie you mentioned, and it scared me."

I chuckled and then soothed her, "Don't be afraid, Sofia. That's just a movie."

From then on, Sofia often called me Mom. Soon, Sofia approached school age.

One day, I received a call from her teacher, saying she'd gotten into a fight.

On the way, I pondered various possibilities but couldn't fathom why Sofia, a precocious child with exceptional emotional control, had resorted to violence.

Since I lived with her, that horror movie incident had been the only time she lost her composure. At other times, she was always calm. I wondered why she fought with others.

At the school, the teacher had separated the two children. She explained that a little boy had seen Sofia's smartwatch background and insisted the person on it was his mother.

While arguing, he tried to grab Sofia's smartwatch, and a fight ensued.

Sofia stopped writing and packed her bag as soon as she saw me.

Seeing her unharmed and collected, I felt relieved.

Suddenly, a figure pounced on me, calling "Mom" repeatedly.

Sofia frowned, pulling the boy away. "Ew, you got snot on my mom's dress."

I finally recognized the boy as Jamie, my son, though he'd grown taller and lost his front teeth. He pointed at me, his eyes swollen but determined. "She's my mom! Give her back to me!"

"She's not," Sofia replied equally firmly. "My mom loves pasta and horror movies. She's not your mom."

Jamie looked at me with pleading eyes, grabbing my index finger. "Mom, you love vegetables best and never watch horror movies, right?"

I gently pried Jamie's hand off and put Sofia's backpack on her shoulders, kissing her cheek. "Sweetie, can you go home by yourself tonight?" Sofia nodded and left, her backpack swinging.

Jamie's eyes dimmed as he watched me send Sofia away.

But when he saw me looking at him, he forced a flattering smile and pretended to be casual. "Mom, when are we going home?"

His stubbornness reminded me of Vicente. "Where's your dad?"

Jamie looked down, focusing on his shoes. "I want to be with you, Mom."

The teacher came in with her phone. "Mr. Buckley is here. Go meet him."

My heart skipped a beat.

Jamie walked out with the teacher, glancing back at me every few steps.

Sitting in the first row, I suddenly said somewhat mischievously, "Do you know why I ate more vegetables at home?"

Jamie turned around, a puzzled expression on his face.

I continued, "Because you didn't eat any vegetables, I was afraid you would be malnourished. I had to coax you into eating them. Only when I ate a lot of vegetables would you eat a few. So you think I love vegetables. And, actually, I love watching horror movies, but neither you nor your dad likes them, so I catered to you and watched other movies."

Jamie's eyes turned red, but he held back his tears. "Mom, I'll eat vegetables from now on, and I'll watch horror movies with you, okay?"