I Died on the Day of Fireworks

My wife, Aspen Harrod, was the richest person in this city, but I was just a lowly househusband. To celebrate her birthday, I used the two hundred dollars that I had saved for many years to buy her a birthday cake and a red rose. On the way to pick up the cake with my son, Jude Anderson, we ran into a car accident. Jude only suffered minor injuries with my protection, but I was in critical condition. Before I died, Jude gave Aspen three calls. In the first call, Jude cried. He said that I was seriously injured in the car accident, and I was covered in blood. Aspen snorted. “Is that weak-willed man thinking of new ways to get money from me? Sure, I’ll give you ten dollars. It should be enough for fast food.” In the second call, Jude hoarsely said that I was in a coma and had already lost consciousness. “Just send me his death certificate, and I’ll sign it!” Aspen yelled furiously. The hospital had issued a notice of critical condition for me, and they insisted that we immediately paid for the surgical bills. Jude called Aspen for the third time, but Aspen had already blocked us. Jude wiped the tears from his face and ran home with all his might. He wanted to use the few hundred dollars that he had saved in his piggy bank to buy me anesthesia. However, he realized that his piggy bank was empty. It was because one day after school, he had bought ice cream with his savings. Aspen claimed that he did not know how to manage his own money and took away his savings. I died, and Aspen’s first love, Greg Smith, sent a message. In the video, Aspen had rented out a whole private club. Under some fireworks, she took some cream from a tiered cake that was worth more than two hundred thousand dollars and smeared it on Greg’s face. She looked at him lovingly. “Darling, let me have a taste of you!” Jude clenched his fists and said, “Dad, I’ll make them pay!”