"You promised not to interrupt my time with Oliver."

"I know... I just got the divorce decree today. I thought I could bring your copy while picking up Oliver."

Logan's face hardened into stone, his lips pressed into a thin line. Every time he looked at me that way, something inside me shattered. I'd loved him for as long as I could remember, but that meant nothing to him.

Time and again, Logan had broken my heart and crushed my soul. Yet I kept loving him, kept holding on, believing things would change. They never did.

When we married, I thought I'd finally find love - the kind I'd been starving for since childhood. I was wrong. Marriage turned into my nightmare. Every day became a battle against a ghost from his past, a woman I could never measure up to, no matter how hard I tried.

I pressed my hand against my chest, trying to ease the constant ache there.

It didn't help. The pain still cut deep, even after months apart.

"Oliver, head up to your room. Your mother and I need to talk." Logan's voice was tight, the word 'mother' dripping with disgust.

Oliver glanced between us before nodding.

"No fighting," he ordered, then disappeared upstairs.

The moment Oliver's footsteps faded, Logan slammed his fist against the counter. His ice-grey eyes turned glacial as he faced me.

"You could've sent these to my office instead of interrupting my time with my son." The words came out as a growl, his hands balled into fists, rage rolling off him in waves.

"Logan..." I sighed, words dying in my throat.

"You wrecked my life nine years ago, then pulled this divorce stunt. What was your plan? Punish me by taking my son because I couldn't love you? Damn it, Sophie,you're truly a bitch!"

His words hit me like bullets, piercing straight through my heart.

What could be worse than the man you love calling you a bitch?

I clutched my aching heart and placed the divorce papers on the table. "Think what you want."

With that, I turned to leave.

Before I reached the door, my phone started ringing. I checked the name—it was my mother.

I didn't want to answer, but knowing my mother, she wouldn't call unless it was important.

After a moment's hesitation, I picked up, "Mom..."

Before I could finish, I heard her hysterical crying, "Come to the hospital! Your father's been shot!"

I was so stunned I almost dropped my phone.

Logan noticed something was wrong and rushed over. "What is it?"

"My father's been shot," I said with my voice trembling.

Logan frowned, but I was too caught up in my grief to notice his reaction. When I came to my senses, I first thought about Oliver's care. "I'll need you to look after Oliver. I don't know how long I'll be at the hospital."

"Go ahead, I'll take care of him." Logan agreed without hesitation.

"Thank you."

Once outside, I drove straight to the hospital, lost in my memories.

Growing up, I was always the overlooked child.

My sister Rachel was my father’s favorite. He used to call her “his precious or his princess.”

On the other hand, my mother adored my brother Benjamin most. He was her handsome son, her pride and joy.

As for me, I wasn't anyone's favorite. I was just, Sophie.

And after what happened nine years ago, my family didn't even bother keeping up appearances anymore.

I know I made a mistake, but it still hurt when my brother and father openly gave me the cold shoulder.

Of course, my mother wasn't any better—she only spoke to me or called when she had something important to tell me.

The car slowly drove into the hospital grounds.

My emotions became even more complicated. To be honest, I didn't know how to face my family.

Was I sad? Of course, I was—after all, the pain they caused me would never go away.

But even so, I was still worried about my father.

Even though he never showed me any fatherly love, he was at least a decent grandfather to Oliver.

It wasn't a big hospital, so I quickly found the inpatient department.

Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I approached the front desk and said, "I'm looking for Richard Walker. He was brought in with a gunshot wound."

"What's your relationship to the patient?" the nurse asked.

"He's my father."

The nurse nodded, typing on her computer. "One moment. He's in the ER, being prepped for surgery. Go straight down this hall. You'll see the emergency doors at the end. Your family should be in the waiting area."

"Thank you."

I turned and followed her directions. With each step, my heart pounded harder.

"It's okay. He'll recover soon," I whispered to myself.

Soon, I reached the end of the hallway.

My mother and brother were sitting anxiously in the waiting area.

I walked over, but just as I was about to speak, they wheeled Dad out on a gurney.