Vanessa froze. The wine glass trembled in her hand. “David? You’re… you’re early.”
David didn’t move to hug his wife. He walked past her and knelt down to high-five the sobbing toddler, who instantly calmed down. Then, he stood up and turned the iPad screen toward Vanessa.
“I installed these cameras three weeks ago because Leo started crying every time you walked into the room,” David said, his voice dangerously low. “I wanted to see if Maria was mistreating him.”
“See! I told you she was incompetent!” Vanessa grasped at the excuse.
“No, Vanessa. Watch.”
David pressed play. The video showed the last four hours. It showed Vanessa ignoring Leo’s cries for food while she took selfies for Instagram. It showed her pushing the child away to keep her dress clean. Then, it showed Maria entering, cooking a warm meal, singing to him, and teaching him his alphabet—all while Vanessa sat on the couch nearby, complaining on the phone that being a mother was ‘exhausting.’
“Maria isn’t the one leaving this house,” David said, handing Maria a tissue. He looked at his wife with zero emotion. “You are. I’ve already called your driver. He’s taking you to your mother’s.”
Vanessa gasped, “You can’t do this! I’m his mother!”
“Biologically, yes,” David said, picking up his son. “But you haven’t been a mom for a long time. Get out.”
