“Ella,” Simon growled. I’d bet his anger stemmed from the fact Jeremiah was already back at my side, grasping my hand like the lifeline to normalcy it was.

I turned my head back over my shoulder, trying to calm my racing heart. “Oh. And just wanted to let you know your solicitor needs to step up a new monthly stipend for us, seeing as we’re expecting another child. Merry Christmas!” I forced as much cheer into the words as I could, knowing I’d never, ever, find this time of year happy or magical again. Not since Simon bloody ruined my life and the excitement of the new child we’d been trying to conceive for eight years.

I didn’t bother to look back, just continued to clutch Jeremiah’s hand in mine as we wended our way back through the growing crowd. Simon called my name again. And once more, I ignored him.

“Did you really have to tell him like that?” Jeremiah asked.

This time, I was the one to bite my lip, hoping it would stem my tears. They spilled over my lashes against my will. “Hadn’t planned on it, no.”

Jeremiah sighed. “Mason said adults are weird when they divorce.”

The painful sting behind my eyes spread to my nose as more tears poured down my cheeks. I stopped my mad march toward the exit and cupped my son’s cheeks. “No matter what happens, I love you.”

“Ella!” Simon’s voice held a note of desperation.

“Bloody hell.” I did not want to deal with my soon-to-be ex anymore, especially not now that the tears brimmed. Jeremiah’s eyes pleaded with mine for a moment before he looked beyond me at what I assumed was his father. Jeremiah’s eyes narrowed and his mouth settled into a grim line.

“Time to go, Mom. And I love you, too.” He leaned into me, his arm going around my waist.

Right. I shouldn’t turn around. No way Jeremiah would say that if it wasn’t bad. So, of course, I looked. And nearly fell to my knees. The woman Simon had been photographed with these past few weeks—the reason I made the snarky stepmum comment—plastered herself to his front, her arms wound around his neck, and her tongue shoved way down his throat. Fucking bastard. Couldn’t he save that for when his son—when I—couldn’t see?

I staggered, but Jeremiah stayed firm, unwavering presence at my side. Gulping in needed air, I gripped Jeremiah’s hand and let him tow me through the crowd this time. At least the tears stopped.