Who Wrote 'Denying My Son'S Guilt'?

He believed a lie. He broke my heart. But his son needs me and nothing will stop me from helping him. I promised to love my husband forever, but he didn't do the same for me. Just one lie and I found myself alone at the worst time of my life. I lost my baby, the man I loved and the life we ​​were building together. My career as a pediatrician not only lifted me up, but became my reason for living. I may not have been able to save my daughter, but I can save other people's precious babies. But it's in the hospital, in my little refuge, that Connor Mycroft has come back to haunt me. His son, a child I never even knew existed, is sick and needs the best pediatrician possible to lead his treatment. And unfortunately for the Mycroft family, that someone is me. My ex-husband still thinks I am the cause of all his misfortunes. His family hates me. His female "friend" seems willing to do anything to get rid of me. But I love little Theodore like I loved my own child and nothing will stop me from saving him.

I went to exactly one party in my new, wealthy neighborhood. Then my neighbor Brenda sued me. In court, she held her bruised and battered daughter, Tiffany. She accused my son of rape. Mid-hearing, Tiffany tugged her collar down. Red marks circled her neck. "He tried to rip my pants off," she sobbed. "He tried to force himself on me. I fought back. So he beat me. He ruined my face!" Outside the courthouse, protesters held up signs, calling my son a piece of trash, a spoiled rich kid. Online, a photoshopped memorial of me went viral. The caption read: The unfit mother should die with her son. My company’s stock plummeted. But I just sat there. Stone-faced. I asked for my son, Cooper, to be brought in. The courtroom doors opened. Cooper walked in. Everyone froze.

My son is dead. He dies in a cramped toilet cubicle after having his skull smashed in. My husband, the school principal, arrives on the scene. The first thing he does is carry his true love's son, the one who killed my son, into an ambulance. They hurriedly leave. Before his death, my son tells me, "Don't cry, Mom. I'm not sad that Dad doesn't believe me. It's enough that you do…" I call Joshua Tucker during my son's funeral. He roars angrily, "Kenny had to get two stitches on his arm because of your son! If you keep pestering me like this, I'll beat him up when I get home!" My son? I look at the gaping hole in my son's head, the one that won't ever bleed anymore. I shut my eyes. Yes, he's my son. My son is dead, Joshua. From now on, there's nothing between us.

Seven years of marriage. Seven years of building a quiet, loving life with my husband, Harry, centered around our sweet son, Leo. But our fragile world shattered the moment her shadow fell across our doorstep—Harry's captivating first love, Claire, and her son, Jake. She and her son forced Leo to eat an entire sugary cake on his birthday, causing his blood sugar to rise dangerously. I tried to stop them, but the real betrayal came from my husband, who emotionally tortured our son into eating the last sugary bomb, leading him to death. I hadn't recovered from the trauma of watching my son die before my eyes when my husband blew away Leo's ashes before my eyes, the only remains of my son. That was when I decided, not only to divorce him, but to make him pay for his each and every sin.

My son, Tyler Youngblood, has a failing kidney. He needs a kidney transplant. My wife, Ruth Lister, asks me to donate one of mine. On the day of the surgery, I turn off my phone and disappear. My entire family frantically searches for me, and I don't show up until four hours later. Because of the delay, Tyler misses the optimal treatment window and tragically dies. My family accuses me of being heartless and stirs up public opinion against me, saying I am unfit to be a father. I leisurely sip my coffee and say, "It's not like his mother is dead. Why didn't she donate her kidney instead?"

I lost my dear son, Henry, to a traffic accident. He had been on his way to one of his part-time jobs. Despite working a lot, my son was still a top scorer on the SATs. “Mom, I don’t want treatment,” he begged with his last breath. “I just want Dad.” In my despair, I called Matthew Foster, my husband, more than one hundred times, but he never answered. We had been married for eighteen years, but one day, he spent all of our savings in order to pay for the treatment of his deceased comrade’s son. That got us into a debt worth one million dollars. To help him pay for it, both Henry I and worked hard to earn money. My son went as far as working five part-time jobs a day! That accident cracked his head open and tore his stomach. He was in urgent need of money for treatment. Since Matthew was not responding, I had to leave Henry’s side to rush to his workplace, where I ended up hearing that he was throwing a party for someone else’s son because he had gotten into a prestigious school. “Mr. Foster gave Zack a seaside mansion, a luxury car, and a limitless black card in hopes that he will succeed in his future studies and have a smooth and healthy life.” As I watched my “poor” husband hug his comrade’s widow and son, I called him for the 101st time. “Henry wants to see you one last time.” “I’m busy right now, Wendy. Be good with Henry and wait a little while longer.” When Matthew hung up impatiently, I put down my phone in silence. I whispered, “Matthew, Henry can no longer wait for you.” At that moment, I decided that I was not going to wait for him anymore either.