Eren Yeager Crying

The day I signed my organ donation papers, my family was gathered around my adopted sister, Hailey, holding a cake they'd baked themselves to celebrate the start of her first clinical trial. I have terminal brain cancer, and my stepsister, Hailey, had stolen my husband Zane's medical credentials. She'd blackmailed a member of his staff to swap her healthy medical records with my terminal diagnosis, stealing the one spot in an experimental treatment that could have saved my life. The pain became too much. I swallowed a handful of painkillers, only to overhear the nurses whispering, "It's a good thing Dr. Zane secured that spot for Hailey. They said she only had three days left." So, in the last 72 hours of my life, I quietly let go of everything. When I signed away the publishing rights to my novels, my father and brother gave me a satisfied smile. When Zane handed me the divorce papers and I signed without a moment's hesitation, he sighed and praised me for finally being "so reasonable." And when I was the one who coaxed our daughter, Olivia, into calling Hailey "Mommy," Olivia gushed that her new mom was the best. Even when I offered Hailey the seaside villa and all my assets, their expressions softened into something like relief. "Don't worry," my brother soothed, gesturing toward Hailey. "We're just keeping it safe for now. Once she's gone, it'll all come back to you." I gave them everything they wanted. So why, when they find out this was all Hailey's vicious lie, do they come crying, saying I'm the one they wanted all along?