"Canary, we aren't discussing this anymore," she said firmly. "I've already told Lisa to break up with you."
Canary blinked, as if trying to process what he had just heard. "Mom… what do you mean you told her?"
Lucy didn't hesitate. "Exactly what I said. It's for your good."
Canary let out a short, disbelieving breath. "For my good?" His voice rose. "How can you do that to me?"
Lucy's expression didn't change. "Because I'm your mother. I have to make decisions you're not ready to make for yourself."
He stared at her, shaking his head slowly. " Seriously? "
A tense silence filled the room.
Then Canary's voice sharpened. "Is this what you did with Uncle Joe and Belinda? Is this what you're trying to do to me too?"
Lucy's eyes narrowed slightly, but her voice stayed calm. "People don't appreciate what I do for them. But everything I do, I do for your good."
Canary stepped back slightly, like the words had pushed him. "Mom… this is not what motherhood is."
Lucy tilted her head slightly. "And what do you think motherhood is?"
He hesitated for a moment, emotion rising in his voice. "It's being kind. It's being supportive. It's giving someone freedom to live their life."
Lucy gave a faint, almost tired smile. "Hmm." She folded her hands. "You should be more appreciative. I've tried to do everything for you, everything. I don't understand why you refuse to see it."
Her voice sharpened slightly. "Are you seriously going to choose that girl over me?"
Canary shook his head immediately. "It's not about choosing her."
He looked at her, voice steady but hurt. "It's that you keep doing things on your own. You decide everything. You don't think about what anyone else wants… not even me."
Canary's voice hardened as the words left him.
"That is selfish. You only care about what benefits you."
Lucy went still. The air between them shifted immediately.
"Canary," she said sharply, "in all people, it should not be you talking to me like that. You should at least be grateful I raised you as my own child."
He froze.
"What?" he asked quietly, almost certain he had misheard.
Lucy's expression tightened, something restrained breaking through. "You've pushed me too far to say this," she continued. "So now you should know… I'm not your real mother."
The words landed without warning.
Canary stared at her, confusion flooding his face. "Mom… what are you saying? What is wrong with you?"
Lucy didn't look away. Her voice remained firm, almost forced steady. "That's it. I have tried my best to raise you as my own because I loved your father, Alexander. I gave you everything. I protected you. I built your life."
Her voice rose slightly. "But you are so big-headed you can't even see it. You can't even appreciate that I raised you as my own."
Silence followed.
Canary shook his head slowly, disbelief written all over his face. "Mom… I think I need a break from this."
He turned away.
No one stopped him. The maids watched him walked zombied and wondered what was happening to him.
he was outside. The night air hit him as he walked straight to his car. He got in without looking back.
Canary sat in the driver's seat, but the car hadn't moved yet.
The engine was on, the soft vibration filling the silence, but his hands stayed frozen on the steering wheel.
Lucy's words refused to leave his mind.
I'm not your real mother.
At first, he just stared ahead, breathing slowly as if trying to convince himself he had heard it wrong.
Then his face tightened.
"No…" he whispered. "No, that's not true."
His grip on the wheel slowly tightened until his knuckles went pale.
Memories started coming without warning—small, sharp flashes that didn't ask permission.
Lucy holding his hand when he was young.
Walking him to school beside Alexander.
Cooking for him, calling him when food was ready.
Sitting beside him when he was sick.
Laughing at things he said when he was small.
His breathing broke.
"No, no, no…" his voice cracked as his eyes began to blur. "That's not true…"
He bent his head forward slightly, trying to hold it together, but it was already slipping.
Tears came first quietly, then faster, until he could no longer stop them. He pressed his forehead lightly against the steering wheel, shaking his head as if that could undo what he had heard.
"Why would you say that…" he choked out. "Why would you say that to me…"
His shoulders trembled. His breathing turned uneven. He wiped his face quickly, but it didn't help.
The emotion built until it broke fully.
He let out a broken sound, unable to hold it anymore, crying openly now in the still car, the dashboard light reflecting in his wet eyes.
For a few seconds, he stayed like that, overwhelmed, unable to move.
Then suddenly he straightened, wiping his face harshly, breath still unsteady.
His hand shifted to the gear.
The car started moving.
He pulled out of the compound slowly at first, then faster, driving away into the night without looking back.
Inside the house, Ketra returned quietly, immediately sensing the shift in the atmosphere.
Lucy was still standing in the same place Canary had left her, unmoving.
"Lucy?" Ketra asked carefully. "What happened?"
Lucy didn't respond at first. Her eyes were distant, fixed on nothing.
Ketra stepped closer. "Lucy, talk to me."
Lucy's voice finally came out low and broken. "I told him."
Ketra frowned slightly. "Told him what?"
Lucy swallowed hard. "I told Canary… that I'm not his real mother."
Ketra froze. "Lucy… how did you end up saying that?"
Lucy shook her head slowly, her voice shaking. "I don't know. I think I lost control. He pushed me… and I just said it."
Her hands trembled slightly now.
"I shouldn't have said it like that," she whispered.
Ketra reached out slightly, but Lucy stepped back and turned away.
"I need to be alone," Lucy said quickly, her voice breaking as she moved toward the stairs.
She didn't wait for a response.
Upstairs, Gerald had been watching quietly from a distance.
A faint, satisfied expression crossed his face as he turned away.
He walked back to his room without a word.
Inside, he closed the door and exhaled slowly, almost relaxed.
As he moved toward his bed, something on the floor caught his eye.
A necklace.
He paused, then slowly bent down and picked it up.
He studied it carefully in his hand.
A memory flickered—Lisa. He had seen something like this before.
He tilted it slightly under the light.
"I'll check on this tomorrow," he muttered to himself, placing it beside him before lying down.