Chapter 4

The sound of the slap echoed in the silent hallway. Mark' s father, a man Ava had always known as quiet and distant, had crossed the room in three quick strides and struck Liam across the face. The force of it snapped Liam' s head to the side.

"You will apologize to your mother this instant," Mr. Thompson thundered, his voice shaking with a rage Ava had never seen.

Liam cradled his cheek, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. He looked from his furious grandfather to his grandmother, who was weeping silently, and then to Ava, who stood watching him with cold, unforgiving eyes.

"Apologize," his grandfather commanded again.

Forced into a corner, Liam mumbled, "I' m... sorry." It was sullen, resentful, and utterly meaningless.

"I don' t accept your apology," Ava said, her voice cutting through the tension. She didn' t raise her voice. She didn' t need to. Her quiet refusal was more powerful than any shout. She looked at Liam, not as a mother looks at a son, but as a judge looks at a defendant. "You are not sorry for what you did. You are only sorry you got caught."

She turned and walked out of the house, leaving the shattered remnants of the Thompson family behind her. The drive back to her grandmother' s was silent. She didn' t feel triumph, only a deep, weary finality. The last tie had been severed.

In the following days, Ava threw herself into her work. She spread her old blueprints across the large dining room table, the scent of aging paper a balm to her soul. She remembered the thrill of creation, the joy of seeing a design come to life. She had given it all up for a man who had discarded her like trash. She would never make that mistake again. She made a call to Ethan Miller, a former colleague from university, a brilliant architect who had always respected her talent. His voice was warm and encouraging, and he immediately agreed to look over her portfolio. A door was opening.

The peace was shattered one afternoon by a loud, insistent banging on the front door. Ava looked through the peephole to see Mark and Liam standing on the porch. Mark looked desperate, Liam sullen.

"Ava, open the door! We need to talk!" Mark yelled.

Mrs. Reed came to stand beside Ava. "You don' t have to see them, dear."

Ava took a deep breath and opened the door, but kept the security chain on. "This is not your home, Mark. You are trespassing. Please leave."

"I' m not leaving until you listen to me!" he said, his voice rising. "Liam needs his mother!"

Liam, standing behind him, looked bored and resentful, a living contradiction to his father's words.

"If you are not off my grandmother' s property in one minute, I will call the police," Ava said, her voice flat. She meant it.

Mark' s face contorted with frustration. He was used to getting his way. In a final, desperate act of manipulation, he did something Ava never could have predicted. He grabbed Liam by the arm and shoved him forward, towards the door.

"Fine! You want to be so cold? Then you can deal with him!" Mark spun on his heel, strode to his car, and sped away, leaving a stunned Liam standing alone on the porch.

Liam stared at the empty driveway, then at Ava' s closed door. The reality of his situation began to dawn on him. He was abandoned. He knocked again, his voice now laced with uncertainty. "Mom? Let me in."

Ava stood on the other side of the door, her hand on the deadbolt. She thought of the boy who had told her to stop bothering him as she lay injured in a hospital bed. She thought of the boy who had blocked her number, who had shoved her and called her pathetic. The maternal warmth she once felt for him was gone, replaced by a vast, cold emptiness. He was his father' s son. A problem his father had created.

She turned away from the door and walked into the kitchen where her grandmother was waiting. The knocking continued for a while, getting more frantic, then pleading. Finally, it stopped.

Through the kitchen window, Ava watched Liam wander aimlessly down the street, a solitary figure in the fading light. He looked lost and small. A part of her should have ached, should have felt a pang of pity. But she felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was like watching a stranger' s misfortune from a great distance. The boy on the street was a product of his choices, and his father' s. And for the first time, Ava understood that his fate was no longer her responsibility.