Forced to Watch My Son Call Her 'Mom' - Chapter 4: Chapter 4

I lost track of how long the birthday party dragged on. By the time I got back from the hospital—bandaged and sore—Victor was gone.
Then, out of nowhere, my estranged brother called.
"Liane," he said, voice hesitant. "Dad forgives you. Says he regrets not being there all these years. He was going to buy you a villa, transfer some company assets—even picked out a sports car for your son as a reunion gift. Wanted him enrolled in a top-tier school too. If you're free, he'd like you to bring your family over."
The words twisted like a knife. All those years of screaming matches with Dad, all my regrets about how things had spiraled—
I managed a hollow "Mm," then hung up.
Victor's text buzzed in seconds. No concern, just venom:
[You brought that beating on yourself, Liane. I warned you to keep quiet. Disgusting. Stay out of my sight tonight—and be ready to apologize when I get back.]
My stitches pulsed. I fired back: Why didn't you correct them when they said Frank wasn't mine?
His reply was ice-cold: Erin needed credibility as my wife. Stop playing the victim.
The room tilted. Had decades of love meant nothing? Maybe I'd failed them somehow. Maybe Erin's honeyed lies had poisoned everything.
If I could just expose her, if they'd listen—
Then Frank's social media post gutted me: a sunlit photo at Erin's place, him grinning between Victor and Erin. Caption: "Real families stick together. Happy forever, Mom and Dad!"
Sixteen years of scraped knees and midnight fevers, and this was his tribute—to her.
Victor never came home. No calls, no texts. By 3 AM, I was clawing at my own arms, imagining his hands on Erin's waist—
I clung to one delusion: He wouldn't. Not with Frank there.
Morning shattered even that. Frank barged in, yanking Victor's clothes from the closet—plus lace underwear I'd never owned.
"What the hell is that?" I blocked the door.
He shouldered past, smirking. "Dad and Erin got... messy last night. Use your imagination."
My vision whited out. "I'm your mother! How can you—"
"Spare me," he scoffed. "Erin actually tries. What do you do except whine?"
I grabbed his wrist. "Her company? Victor made me sign it over when I was blackout drunk! Everything she has is stolen!"
Frank wrenched free. "Don't trash Erin."
His next words froze my blood:
"Even if it's true—who cares? It's hers now. And Dad loves her. If you really loved him, you'd be happy for them. Why can't you just... disappear?"
The boy I'd nursed through pneumonia stared at me like I was roadkill.
Then Erin's text lit up my phone.