On my son’s fifth birthday, my husband brought another woman and claimed she was his “real mother.”

But one person was missing.

Marco.
An hour passed, and he still had not arrived.

Then, at exactly four o’clock, the front gate swung open. Marco walked in, but not alone.

A woman in a red dress was holding his arm.

It was Valerie, my former secretary—the same woman I had fired a month earlier for stealing from my company.

The music faded. Every guest turned to stare.

I hurried toward Marco and whispered, “What is she doing here?”

But Marco ignored me. He grabbed the microphone and smiled like he had been waiting for this moment.