Chapter 4

"No!"

I lunged forward, desperate to break inside.

Nyla snapped her fingers, summoning her bodyguards to tackle me back down to the floor.

I fell to my knees, begging her through broken sobs, "Asher is already dead. Please, I’m begging you, don’t let them desecrate his body."

Looking down at me in this pathetic state, a rare flash of pity softened Nyla’s cold eyes. She grabbed my hand, about to comfort me, when her gaze landed on my bare left hand.

Shock instantly turned her face pale. "Where’s your wedding ring?"

"I sold it to get..."

Before I could explain that it was to pay for our son’s emergency care, Nyla raised her hand and slapped my face.

"You're spoiling him again!" she shrieked, "The only reason I cut off your allowance was so you two wouldn't turn into lazy, spoiled degenerates! I can't believe you sold our wedding ring just to take him out to an amusement park! Unbelievable!"

“Slap!”

Slap after slap rained down on my face.

I couldn't bring myself to say another word. She didn't believe me. Explaining anything to her was a waste of breath.

I didn't fight back, taking every blow in silence. All I cared about was dragging myself toward the examination room door to reclaim my dead boy.

Seeing my absolute desperation, the bodyguards hesitated, their grip on my arms slackening with pity.

Nyla took their hesitation for incompetence and snapped in a fury, "Break his leg! Let's see him try to fight back after that!"

With no choice, a bodyguard raised his boot and stomped down hard. A sickening snap echoed through the hall as my leg fractured.

Yet I barely felt the agony. Tears blurred my vision completely as I dragged my ruined body forward across the floor, inch by painful inch.

Nyla faltered, visibly shaken, and reached out to pull me up.

Right then, the examination room door swung open.

Kieran stepped out, covered in splatters of fresh blood.

Nyla dropped her arms, abandoning me immediately as she rushed to his side. "He's acting totally insane, insisting that the kid in there is Asher! Kieran, you performed the procedure yourself. Tell him he's wrong."

Kieran let out a soft chuckle and shook his head. "Of course it's not him. Asher is blessed. He's going to live a long, full life. How could he possibly be dead?"

He paused, glancing at Nyla standing firmly on her own two feet, and put on a look of sudden realization.

"Ah, I get it now, Nyla. He must’ve noticed your legs recovered. He's lying and using your son’s safety to scare you just to get your attention."

It was only then that Nyla remembered she had rushed here in such a hurry that she forgot to use her wheelchair. She quickly scrambled to cook up an excuse for me.

"My legs only healed two days ago," she blurted out, her tone defensive, "I kept it a secret from you guys just to make sure you learned your lesson. Besides, Kieran was top of his class, and he always said tough love builds real character.

“Ever since I got sick, Asher's grades have been improving. Sure, he's having a tough time right now, but when he grows up to be someone successful, he'll understand why I had to do this."

Asher had only studied hard because he wanted to make her happy. It was because he wanted his mom to love him a little more.

It had nothing to do with her bullshit "tough love" philosophy.

I opened my mouth to scream back at her, to tear her lies apart.

Then a sudden wave of numbness hit me.

My son was dead. He didn't have a future anymore.

…

Nyla frowned, caught off guard by my complete lack of reaction. She opened her mouth to keep rationalizing, but Kieran suddenly clutched his cheek, letting out a pained groan.

"Nyla, I think my stitches pulled open," Kieran whimpered, looking down apologetically, "I'm sorry, I pushed myself too hard."

Nyla panicked instantly, completely forgetting I was even standing there. "Your face can't get ruined! Where are the doctors?!" she bellowed at the top of her lungs.

She pulled Kieran away, leaving me behind once again.

I didn't care about them anymore. I forced myself off the floor and limped into the room, my ruined leg dragging behind me.

I approached the operating table and stared down at the body.

Tears poured uncontrollably down my face.

This wasn't a postmortem examination. This was pure butcher's work!

The face was mangled beyond recognition, but the distinct birthmark on the wrist screamed the unbearable truth at me over and over again. This butchered pile of flesh on the table was my son.

I wailed in agony as darkness threatened to pull me under, but I bit my lip until it bled to stay conscious.

I had to guard him. I couldn't let anyone hurt him ever again.

Using the leftover deposit money refunded by the hospital, I had my son cremated. Holding the tiny, heavy urn close to my chest, I walked back to our empty home.