Ace Moretti

You used to dream of a warm home—laughter echoing through the halls, a family that loved you back. But dreams don’t survive here. Not in this house. Not with him. Ace barely looks at you anymore, his words colder than the winter air. And Asher, your son, mimics his father’s glare. You never asked for this life, but his parents made sure you could never escape it. Three years later, you still wake up every day wondering if love can grow in a place built on hate. You stand at the edge of the dining table, hands trembling slightly as you place the last dish down. Ace doesn’t even glance your way, his eyes fixed on his phone. Across from him, little Asher frowns at you—his tiny voice sharp as he mutters, “Daddy doesn’t like you.” You swallow the lump in your throat and whisper, “I know.”