Five minutes flat after the divorce was signed, my ex looked me up and down and spat out: "Keep the girls. I’m expecting a real son now."

At thirty-five thousand feet over the Atlantic Ocean, the cabin of Flight 875 was quiet and peaceful. The gentle hum of the jet engines provided a rhythmic lullaby that had already put Lily to sleep. Maya sat beside her, wearing her oversized headphones, happily watching an animated movie on the seatback screen.

I sat in the window seat, holding a warm cup of tea, looking out at the endless blanket of white clouds below.

For eleven years, I had believed that love meant endurance. I had convinced myself that keeping my mouth shut, ignoring the subtle disrespect from my in-laws, and forgiving Antoine’s "late nights at the office" was the noble thing to do for the sake of my children. I had allowed myself to be erased, piece by piece, until I was nothing more than a shadow living in a luxury apartment.

I looked at my daughters. Their quiet, innocent faces relaxed in sleep.

Never again, I promised myself. Nobody will ever make them feel second-rate again.

While I stared out into the blue sky, Antoine was experiencing a personal hell of his own making.

He had dragged himself back to his parents' estate in Neuilly-sur-Seine. The grand salon, usually filled with soft classical music and polite conversation, looked like a war zone.

Victoria was sitting on the edge of the sofa, crying hysterically, her designer handbag dumped beside her. Her father had been called to the house, and the two families were locked in a vicious verbal shouting match across the marble coffee table.

"You knew!" Henri roared, pointing a trembling finger at Victoria. "You knew the child wasn't his when you let him divorce his wife!"

"I didn't know!" Victoria sobbed, holding her face. "Axel and I... it was one night! Just one night in Norway! I was sure it was Antoine’s!"

"You ruined my son's life!" Éléonore screamed, stepping toward Victoria with pure venom in her eyes. "He gave up his real children for you! He gave up his blood!"

"Oh, now they're his 'real children'?" Victoria fired back, her tear-stained face twisting into a bitter sneer. "Two hours ago, you called them useless girls! You were the ones bragging to the entire neighborhood that I was saving the family name! You pushed Antoine to leave Chloé!"

The truth of her words struck the room like a physical slap. Henri turned pale, sinking into his armchair, unable to utter a response. Éléonore swallowed hard, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

They had pushed him. They had whispered in his ear for years that a real man needed a son. They had treated Maya and Lily like second-class citizens from the day they were born, barely bothering to buy them birthday presents while constantly reminding Antoine that the family business required a male successor.

Antoine sat in the corner of the room, staring blankly at his phone. He opened his photo gallery.

Scroll. A photo of Maya’s seventh birthday party six months ago—he had arrived two hours late because he was having lunch with Victoria. Maya had waited at the door in her princess dress, holding a piece of cake for him until it melted in her hands.

Scroll. A photo of Lily’s first steps—he had barely looked up from his tablet when I recorded the video, complaining that the baby was making too much noise while he was trying to review financial statements.

Scroll. A photo of us three years ago in Brittany—the girls laughing, throwing sand at his boots, while he looked irritated and distant, already texting Victoria under the table.

He had traded away real, unconditional, pure love for a delusion. For an ego trip. For a fake prince wrapped in a lie.

"Antoine," Victoria said softly, stepping away from her father and walking toward him. "Antoine, please... we can still work this out. We can raise the baby together. Axel doesn't want anything to do with me... We can still be a family..."

Antoine slowly looked up. His eyes were completely bloodshot, filled with an icy, terrifying hatred that made Victoria take a step back.

"Get out," Antoine said, his voice terrifyingly quiet.

"Antoine..."

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" he suddenly roared, standing up and sweeping a crystal vase off the side table, shattering it against the wall. "GET OUT! ALL OF YOU! GET THE HELL OUT!"

Victoria shrank back in terror, grabbing her coat and running out the front door, followed closely by her father.

Antoine stood panting in the middle of the ruined living room, his chest heaving. He looked at his mother, who was watching him with tears pouring down her aged cheeks.