As morning dawned, it was time for Betty to get up and prepare breakfast, then wake Michael for school.
Yet, Betty remained wide-eyed in bed.
Throughout the night, she alternated between crying and closing her eyes, but mostly, she just stared into the darkness.
Perhaps she spent the night wrestling with her thoughts, making decisions about how to handle Michael, how to manage the aftermath, and whether to confront me with the truth.
The usual time for school had come and gone, but Betty showed no signs of getting out of bed.
Meanwhile, Michael was still sound asleep on the floor outside Betty’s door, completely oblivious.
It was clear that neither of them was going to school today.
Betty hadn’t called the school to excuse their absence.
Was she planning to let everything fall apart?
No, that couldn’t be right.
I quickly checked the calendar and realized it was the weekend; they didn’t have school anyway.
It seemed Betty had no intention of getting up to make breakfast, or even leaving her bedroom at all today.
Perhaps she would spend the day lost in thought.
But as much as one might skip meals, nature’s calls are harder to ignore.
Time ticked on, and by 7:30 AM, Betty finally got out of bed to head to the bathroom.
She moved slowly, her steps light, almost tiptoeing to the door.
Gone was the usual polished, vibrant Betty.
Today, she looked disheveled, her face tear-stained, her hair a mess.
This chapt𝙚r is updated by freeωebnovēl.c૦m.
I had never seen Betty look so defeated.
The door creaked open, and there, right at her doorstep, lay Michael, still deep in sleep.
Michael was a heavy sleeper; on a normal day, Betty would have to call him at least twice after breakfast was ready to get him up and moving.
Today, with no one to wake him, he remained sprawled right outside Betty’s door, oblivious to the cold floor beneath him.
Michael’s face was peaceful, a dribble of drool marking the spot on the floor.
He looked every bit the innocent child, yet who could imagine that this very child, in a moment of unchecked desire, had committed such a monstrous act against his own foster mother?
In the past, Betty would have looked down at him tenderly, perhaps playfully tapping his cheek as she called him her "little lazy bug" to wake him up.
But today was different.
As Betty looked down at the boy she once adored, her lips quivered, her eyes filled with a mix of hatred and lingering love.
The complexity of her emotions flickered across her face, a heartbreaking blend of love and loathing.
Betty took a deep breath, then stepped over Michael’s body to reach the bathroom.
She slammed the door shut with such force that it seemed the frame might shatter.
"Bang..." echoed through the air.
This dramatic act was soon revealed to have a purpose.
The loud noise startled Michael awake from his slumber.
He opened his eyes to see Betty’s door ajar and quickly scrambled to his feet, shaking his head, puzzled about when he had fallen asleep.
Betty, now in the bathroom, washed her hands and stared at her weary reflection in the mirror.
She began to freshen up.
Although everything seemed normal, Betty’s worn and sorrowful expression spoke volumes.
After waking, Michael intended to retreat to his own room, but found himself turning back and slowly kneeling at the bathroom door.
When Betty finished and opened the door, she found Michael kneeling there.
Her face remained impassive as she glanced at him and then walked past him toward the kitchen.
Michael’s face filled with fear and tension; Betty’s indifferent demeanor felt like she was treating him like a stranger, a feeling more devastating than heartbreak.
"Mom, I’m sorry, I was wrong... please, can you forgive me?" Michael pleaded, his voice filled with sorrow as he knelt and repeatedly bowed his head, begging for Betty’s forgiveness.
At this moment, I doubted whether Michael was truly remorseful or just putting on an act; it was impossible to tell.
Betty remained silent, her emotions fragile as she prepared breakfast.
It was a simple meal, quickly assembled.
She placed the breakfast on the table, a single serving, clearly not meant for herself.
Despite her anger, Betty’s kindness prevailed; she couldn’t bear to see him go hungry, always having treated him like her own son.
"Mom, please talk to me, I know I was wrong. Forgive me, please?" Michael tried again, resorting to his last-ditch effort to evoke sympathy.
"You don’t need to seek my forgiveness, because I can’t even forgive myself. What you should be thinking about is whether he will forgive you, and if he will forgive me," Betty finally spoke, her voice hoarse as she turned away from Michael, her words heavy with meaning.
"Mom, are you going to tell Dad?" Michael’s voice trembled, now remembering to call me ’Dad’?
What took him so long?
"I can’t hide this from him. I’ve betrayed him. You’re young, you don’t understand what fidelity means to a woman, nor what’s most important between spouses.
When he returns, I don’t know what will become of you and me, so don’t ask for my prayers, pray to him instead."
Previously, Betty would refer to me as ’your father...’ but now she used ’he’, seemingly distancing herself from Michael, as if she no longer recognized him as her son.
"Bang..." Betty said these words and then returned to her room, leaving only a breakfast for Michael.
After hearing Betty’s words, Michael was completely stunned.
At this moment, without the control of lust, he became utterly weak, a child in fear, trembling because he knew the potential wrath if I came home.
"Mom, please, don’t tell Dad. If you do, I might be thrown out, and I don’t want to be homeless again. I was wrong, I truly know I was wrong..." Michael cried and banged on Betty’s locked door from the outside.
He knelt there, uttering pitiful words, some perhaps sincere, others maybe just part of his manipulative tactics.
Despite everything, Betty remained a kind woman.
Though she stayed silent in her bedroom, listening to Michael’s cries and pitiful words made her tears flow.
Perhaps she cried for herself, for Michael, and for her husband.
Michael didn’t know how long he spoke, but eventually, he sat exhausted at Betty’s doorstep.
Occasionally, he would utter a few more words, then fall silent again.