The Ex Who Stole My Delivery Room - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

I yanked my hand out of Harris's grip, anger and hurt boiling inside me. "Don't worry about me," I said, my voice icy. "Your family's insults are nothing new."
His face fell, guilt flashing in his eyes as he took a step back. "Darcy, I—"
But I didn't let him finish. I turned and walked away, leaving him—and his perfect little family—behind. I couldn't stand another second watching him dote on his mistress and her daughter.
With every step, relief mixed with the sting of betrayal. I was free of Harris and his toxic world, but the pain lingered. He'd moved on, built a new life. But what about me? What about Ethan?
My pulse pounded as I quickened my pace, desperate to escape the memories, the humiliation.
Then, a small hand slipped into mine. I looked down to see Ethan staring up at me, his big eyes full of worry.
"Mommy, what's wrong?"
I forced a smile. "Nothing, sweetheart. Did you have fun with your friends?"
"Yeah!" he chirped. "I gave everyone their goody bags. And I made a new friend! He needs goggles. Next time we come, can we get him some?"
"Of course," I said, ruffling his hair. "Mommy's just tired. Let's go home, okay?"
Ethan nodded, squeezing my hand.
But just as we reached the exit, we ran straight into Harris, Cindy, and Layla. Cindy smirked, draping herself over Harris's arm like she'd won some prize. As if I cared.
Then Layla, the little viper, whispered loud enough for me to hear, "Daddy, look! That mean lady couldn't keep you, so she stole some orphan boy instead."
My fists clenched. How dare she call my son an orphan? I'd raised Ethan to be kind—he'd never use that word. But then again, like mother, like daughter.
I braced for Ethan to snap back—my three-year-old never took crap from anyone. But he just stared at her, his gaze sharp enough to cut glass.
Layla wasn't done. She broke free from Harris and marched up to Ethan. "Where'd you come from, orphan? I didn't donate to you or take a selfie for my feed."
I whirled on Cindy. "This is how you raise her? To mock people and brag about 'charity' for clout?"
Cindy's eyes welled up on cue as she turned to Harris. "Is it my fault I've been depressed for three years? Layla's just a child, Harris! She's been hounded by the media her whole life—does she deserve this?"
Harris softened instantly, stroking her hair. "It's not your fault, Cindy. Layla's just a kid. She'll learn."
Then his gaze snapped to me, cold and dismissive. "You have no right to judge Cindy's parenting. You're not even a mother."
The words hit like a knife. My breath caught. Not a mother? After what he'd taken from me?
Rage burned through me. "You're right, Harris. I'm not a mother. But whose fault is that? Or have you forgotten?"
His face paled as realization dawned. "Darcy…" he whispered, voice rough with regret.
Then Ethan spoke, his tone eerily calm. "I'm not an orphan, you brat. Keep your fake charity. I don't need it."
Cindy gasped, yanking Layla into her arms before glaring at Harris. "Did you hear that? Your bastard just threatened my daughter!"