The heavy scent of roasted meats, expensive wine, and sweet buttercream filled the ground floor of the grand suburban estate, accompanied by the loud, ringing laughter of twenty relatives.

A wave of shock rippled through the grand room.

"Connor, you cannot be serious!" Uncle Richard exclaimed, standing up from his chair. "We are your family! We came here from out of state to celebrate your son’s birthday!"

"You came here to eat my food, drink my eight-hundred-dollar wine, and watch my wife suffer while my child laid sick upstairs!" Connor barked, pointing violently at the open doorway. "Out! All of you! Right now!"

"Connor, stop this madness!" Evelyn screamed, her face contorting with rage as she saw the family patriarchs looking flustered and embarrassed. "You are humiliating me in front of everyone! I am your mother!"

"Fifty seconds!" Connor yelled, crossing his arms, his eyes blazing.

Seeing that he was entirely unhinged and utterly serious, the relatives began frantically grabbing their coats and designer purses. Cousin Brenda was the first to bolt through the front door, followed closely by Aunt Gertrude, who didn't even stop to pick up her umbrella. Uncle Richard mumbled an insult under his breath, dragging his wife along as they hurried toward the driveway.

Within forty-five seconds, the grand living room was empty—save for Evelyn, who stood near the fireplace, trembling with indignation, her face bright red.

"You are making the biggest mistake of your life, Connor," Evelyn hissed, her voice shaking with hatred. "You are choosing a penniless, weak girl over your own blood. Over the woman who gave you everything."

"You didn't give me everything, Evelyn," Connor said, walking over to the heavy oak front door and holding it wide open to the cold afternoon air. "You gave me an upbringing built on conditional love and status. But Amy gave me a real family. And you will never step foot in this house again."

Evelyn gasped, clutching her pearls. "You're banning your own mother?!"

"If you ever step onto my lawn again without a written invitation, I will file a restraining order," Connor said, his tone as cold as ice. "Get out."

Evelyn sneered, throwing her designer scarf over her shoulder. "She'll drain you dry, Connor. Mark my words. When you realize she’s nothing without your money, don't come crawling back to me."

She strutted out the door, her heels clicking angrily against the porch steps. Connor slammed the heavy door shut, locked the deadbolt, and leaned his forehead against the cold wood, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.

The silence that settled over the house was deafening. The grand living room was a disaster—stained carpets, overturned glasses, half-eaten food scattered everywhere. But for the first time in months, the air felt clean.

Connor didn't waste a second looking at the mess. He turned and sprinted up the stairs, taking them three at a time.

He reached the nursery door and knocked gently. "Amy? It's me. It's Connor. They're gone, sweetheart. All of them."

The lock clicked, and the door swung open. Amy stood there, wrapped in Connor’s oversized suit jacket, holding a sleeping, red-faced Leo in her arms. She looked at Connor with wide, uncertain eyes, still terrified that this was all a temporary dream.