Chapter 2

In a modest hospital ward, Artie held my hand and said to me, “Mom, if I die, could you please not tell Dad right away? He’s a great hero. I don’t want him to be upset.”

Four days ago, my son had an asthma attack.

In a panic, I grabbed Logan as he was heading out and begged him to drive Artie to the hospital.

His mind, though, was preoccupied with picking up Jenny Horne and her child, and he simply shook off my hands.

“Do you take me for a fool, Willow Gray? Our son’s asthma isn’t something new. It’s been going on for ages. He’ll be fine after taking his medicine. He’s not going to die.

“Jenny is waiting for me at the park so I can take her and her son boating. Stop bothering me.”

With that, he walked away without looking back.

Left all alone, I wept as I pleaded with everyone in the military compound, begging anyone I could find to take my child to the hospital.

But it was too late.

Artie, whom I had lovingly raised for five years, left me forever, just before he was about to start school.

That day, I knelt before the doctors many times and shed countless tears.

None of it could make my son open his eyes or call me “Mom” one last time.

At that thought, I clenched the death certificate in my hand as my heart ached with a cold, piercing pain.

Forcing back the sting in my eyes, I turned to leave.

Without warning, Logan grabbed my arm.

“What’s the matter? Feeling guilty now?”

He sneered and snatched the death certificate from my hand.

“Let’s see what excuse you’ve cooked up this time!”

…

I froze. I immediately realized I had to get it back.

Alas, Logan had already unfolded the paper.

The moment he saw our son’s name on the certificate, all the color drained from his face.

He read it over seven times, carefully checking every word.

At last, his gaze finally settled on the section for the certifying authority that was still blank, pending the medical director’s signature.

Logan’s fury exploded instantly.

“Is this any way for a mother to behave?

“You actually forged your own son’s death certificate just to get my attention? You crazy woman!”

His eyes turned bloodshot as he delivered a savage kick to my chest.

Unable to brace myself, I was knocked to the ground, and my suitcase burst open as everything spilled across the floor.

Artie’s favorite toy, a tin frog, landed right at Logan’s feet.

I frantically reached out to retrieve my son’s last memento, but the enraged man had already raised his foot.

Without thinking, I quickly stretched my hand over to the toy, only for his hard leather boot to crush down on my left hand.

The excruciating pain stole my breath.

Logan instinctively took two steps back, but for the briefest moment, a flash of pity crossed his eyes.

Then he looked at the death certificate in his hand again and scoffed.

“Willow, don’t think I’ll forgive you for using our son to get my attention.

“Go home. I don’t want to see you again!”

He ripped the death certificate into tiny pieces.

I paid him no heed. A chill crept uncontrollably into my heart as I merely stared blankly at the tin frog in my hand, one corner of which had already broken off.

Leaving the hospital, I carried with me two documents.

One was the newly completed death certificate, while the other was the application for Artie’s cremation.

I only had two days left till I fulfilled my son’s final wishes.

…

The next day, I stayed home.

I sat in the living room, all focused on sewing clothes for my son.

Logan was a regimental commander, often admonishing Artie and me to be frugal and not to live beyond our means.

Although Artie was too young to understand, he knew his father was a great hero who protected our country, so he had never made any demands of Logan or me.