“You just left us! How are my son and I supposed to survive?” Xena clung to James’s coffin, sobbing uncontrollably, her eyes red and swollen. Beside her, Charlie, a boy around seven or eight years old, wailed just as loudly, crying out, “Daddy!” Relatives, coworkers, and other onlookers exchanged knowing glances, some barely suppressing smirks at the dramatic scene unfolding before them. Before I could say anything, Mia shoved Charlie away. “Get lost! That’s my dad! Don’t call him that!” Charlie scrambled to his feet and glared at her. “Who do you think you are? I’m his only son!” Then, without warning, he pounced on her, scratching her face until it turned red. When I saw this, fury boiled inside me. I moved to step in, but my mother-in-law, Sally Lincoln, pulled me back and hurried toward the children. She hurriedly separated the two children, her face full of concern as she immediately checked Charlie for any injuries. Mia, refusing to back down, cried out de
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