Chapter 57 A Mother's Love
Jonathan was frail, a true mama's boy but he was gentle, soft-spoken, and deeply kind. Margarete, on the other hand, was striking, sexy, charming, and effortlessly intriguing. Every man noticed her.
Jonathan couldn't explain it, but from the moment he met Margarete, he was drawn to her. She was fiery, exciting, bold in a way that made his quiet nature feel safe.
Margarete was naturally dominant, and she took the lead in their relationship without hesitation. Jonathan didn't mind in fact, that's what he loved most about her. He didn't have the strength or the edge to take control, and he knew it. So he gave her full power, and Margarete embraced it.
All her life, she had been told to submit to a man. But here she was married to a rich, handsome man who was willing, even eager, to submit to her. For once, she wasn't forced to shrink herself. And she loved it.
When Jonathan found out she was having a boy, his joy was overwhelming. He knew he didn't have much time, so the news brought him peace his lineage would live on.
Margarete found herself feeling happy and grateful. Maybe this wasn't what she had wanted at first, but perhaps, in some strange way, it had all worked out. Jonathan, despite his frailty, was even more handsome than the man she once loved. He adored her, treated her gently, and gave her the freedom to be herself.
And she was now a Sinclair.
Her status had skyrocketed. Her name opened doors, her presence commanded attention, and her old friends once equals now looked at her with envy. Everything had changed. The luxury, the power, the influence... she couldn't deny it. Her life was good. Better than good.
After Margarete gave birth to Ethan, the house was filled with celebration and laughter. Max was overjoyed. Jonathan was glowing with pride. Everyone seemed to breathe easier now that the heir had arrived.
To ensure Margarete recovered well, four postpartum nurses were assigned to her, each highly trained and attentive. They handled everything: the baby's feeding schedule, diaper changes, bathing, and care. All Margarete had to do was breastfeed. The rest was handled with precision and care.
With their help, she had ample time to rest and heal. Her body was sore, but she was well taken care of. For a brief moment, it felt like peace.
But that peace didn't last.
Seven months after Ethan's birth, Margarete had fully healed. Her body had bounced back, her energy returned, and to anyone looking at her, it was hard to believe she'd even given birth. But something had begun to gnaw at her, something subtle at first, but soon impossible to ignore.
She realized she didn't truly have custody of her own child.
Every detail of Ethan's life, his schedule, his meals, his environment was dictated not by her, but by Max and the nurses. She wasn't allowed to spend long, uninterrupted time with him. There was always someone watching, someone ready to take him away. And the more she noticed it, the more suffocated she felt.
One afternoon, after breastfeeding Ethan, a nurse approached like always to take him away. But this time, Margarete refused.
"No," she said firmly. "He's my son. I can care for him myself now. It's time you nurses left."
The nurse hesitated, but then stood her ground. Calm, composed, but unyielding, she said, "I'm afraid I can't do that, ma'am. I'm just following orders."
"Orders?" Margarete's eyes narrowed. "Who's orders?"
"I'm just following instructions," the nurse replied, moving closer to take Ethan.
Margarete stepped back, cradling her son tighter. "Who do you think you are, insisting on taking my child when I, his mother, said no?"
Her voice rose with fury, her hands trembling as maternal instinct surged through her. She nearly struck the nurse, barely holding herself back. Something was terribly wrong. And for the first time since Ethan's birth, Margarete felt it deep in her bones.
Margarete loved Ethan with all her heart.
From the moment he began growing in her womb, she felt a deep, unshakable bond with him. And after his birth, that connection only grew stronger. He was her pride and joy. He looked just like her, not just in his face, but in his spirit. Energetic, curious, smart he was vibrant in a way that mirrored everything she loved about herself.
She had given him life, and now, she was determined to protect it.
When the nurse reached for him again, Margarete held Ethan tighter. Her eyes flashed.
"Touch him! Touch him!!" She screamed " and I will give you a dirty slap."
The nurse paused, startled by the sudden ferocity in Margarete's voice. For a moment, it looked like she might challenge her again but seeing that Margarete was no longer willing to be passive, the nurse backed down and quietly left the room.
Margarete's heart was pounding, but she felt something she hadn't in months: control.
Later that evening, she was surprised to see her father, Max's younger brother Sir Levi and several other family members arrive at the estate. It wasn't unusual for them to visit, especially to see Ethan. They often came with gifts, smiles, and doting affection. So Margarete thought nothing of it.
She assumed they were there for another warm family visit.
But something was different this time.
The visitors didn't wear their usual smiles. There were no warm greetings, no gifts. Without a word, they walked straight into Max's study, a room in the house reserved for serious business and high-stakes meetings. Margarete grew uneasy. Moments later, she was summoned.
She entered the study and took a seat near her father, confused by the heavy silence that filled the room. Everyone's expression was stiff, unreadable. Her heart began to race.
Then, without a word, a document was handed to her.
It was a contract with her signature clearly visible at the bottom. She remembered signing it, blindly, during the rush and pressure. Her father had assured her it was routine. She never questioned it.
"I think it's time we told you about the second condition," Max said coldly.
A sealed envelope was placed before her. With trembling fingers, she opened it and unfolded the document inside. Her eyes scanned the page, and then she froze.
Max Sinclair was to have full legal custody of Margarete and Jonathan's first-born male.
She stared at the paper, stunned. Her ears rang. Slowly, she looked up at the faces around her. her father, Max's brother Sir Levi, the other family members searching for an explanation.
But no one spoke.
"Read on," Max instructed, his voice as sharp as ever.
Her eyes dropped back to the paper. The next lines were even worse.
If Margarete breached this agreement, she would be immediately removed from the Sinclair estate, her and her family ties to the Sinclair family would be permanently severed. And even then, she would have no right to reclaim custody of Ethan.
Her hands trembled. Her throat dried up. Ethan her son. Her world.
"Why?" Margarete asked, her voice shaking. "I'm his mother. He needs me."
Silence.
She looked from face to face, desperate for an answer, but none came. Her heart pounded in her chest as she repeated, more forcefully, "Why?!"
Max met her eyes with a chilling calm.
"Because you're not fit to raise Sinclair's heir," he said flatly.