Marked As the Substitute Mom
I was prepping the ceremonial cloak for our seventh mating anniversary.
The front door suddenly banged open.
My son rushed inside, tears streaming down his face.
"The teacher yelled at me," he sobbed.
He shoved the wrinkled drawing into my hands before burying his face in my shirt.
I smoothed out the paper to see what the drama was about.
It was a sketch of a faceless woman titled: The Substitute Mom.
My heart stopped as I read the scribbles underneath.
"Daddy said she is the backup."
"She does the chores but gets no wages."
"The Real Mom is responsible for being beautiful and guarding the treasury."
My fingertips turned ice-cold against the paper.
My mate, Ethan, had just returned from a pa