What reduced me to disgrace did not stop there.

My mother’s condition could not wait. I had no choice but to compromise.

Facing my phone camera, I uploaded a clarification video to YouTube. I personally admitted that the marriage certificate was photoshopped.

I claimed that I had maliciously fabricated the so-called evidence of academic fraud and that everything I had done stemmed from jealousy of Olivia’s talent and achievements.

I said that I did that because I had foolishly loved Dante, yet could never have his heart, so I committed those insane acts.

Even now, the comment section under that video was still flooded with filth, most of it from bots hired by the family and from people who never knew the truth.

"Girl, have you gone crazy over a man?! You even faked a marriage certificate!"

"What a lunatic. And you dared to slander a good woman like Dr. Ricci as a mistress. Pathetic."

"Women like this shouldn't be allowed online! Smearing doctors is unforgivable!"

"Dr. Ricci saved so many people. Who do you think you are to ruin her?"

"Let’s crowdfund it. I’ll put up a hundred. Who’s going to slap her awake?"

"I’ll do two hundred."

"Count me in! A vicious bitch like this deserves to be taught a lesson!"

…

During that time, I drifted through each day like a walking corpse. I lived under overwhelming humiliation and pain.

All I could do was hide in my apartment in the Cambridge district, staying by my mother’s hospital bed.

Perhaps my condition was too obvious. Even though I never let her near the internet, my mother sensed that something was wrong.

Lying in her hospital bed, she reached out with her frail hand and held mine.

"Sofia, I'm sorry. If it weren’t for my illness, you wouldn’t have had to suffer so much."

I shook my head, tears spilling uncontrollably. "Mom, don’t say that. This is because I’m useless."

She sighed and began talking about the past, about Dante and me.

Young love is always the purest.

Ten years ago, Dante was three years ahead of me. Though he was Italian-American, he had not yet been formally acknowledged by the Falcone family. At the time, he was still an illegitimate son, a graduate student at a top technical institute in Boston.

He first saw me at a medical symposium.

Back then, I had just started my freshman year at a prestigious Ivy League university, yet I had already presented a paper on cancer treatment at the conference.

Dante was drawn to my talent and began approaching me on his own. He helped me organize experimental data and saved seats for me at the main campus library.

When I stayed up late doing research, he brought me coffee and donuts.

Until that day in a public park near Cambridge, when a group of street punks started following me. They were small-time thugs from a nearby Irish gang, known for harassing female students.

Dante tried to protect me. He was beaten so badly that he was hospitalized at St. Catherine’s Medical Center.

He had three broken ribs, and a scar was left on his face.

After that, we naturally ended up together.

Back then, Dante's family had not reclaimed him yet. He was still that poor graduate student working late shifts at a cafe just to pay his tuition fees.

It was my mother who helped him all along. She even funded him so he could finish his education. She borrowed money for him, allowing him to continue his studies at that institute.

Alas, now, the kindness my mother once gave had become the blade stabbing straight back at her.

She had no idea what her daughter was facing. She also had no idea that the child she once treated as her own was now using the most ruthless methods against us.

I watched my mother’s face grow thinner by the day.

My heart felt like it was being cut apart.

I thought, 'Maybe this is enough. At least, I still have my mother. At least, I’m not completely alone. As long as she’s alive, I still have a reason to keep living.'

Unfortunately, God seemed to enjoy tormenting the miserable. He was unwilling to leave me even this last sliver of hope.

When I received the notice that my mother was in critical condition, I lost my mind and rushed toward Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center.

The Uber was stuck on Storrow Drive for half an hour. My entire body trembled with panic.

Seeing how frantic I was, the driver said kindly, "Miss, you might want to get out and run. The traffic ahead is completely jammed."

I shoved the door open immediately and sprinted toward the hospital.

I was stopped cold at the entrance of my apartment building.

A crowd surrounded me aggressively. They had dug up my personal information and tracked down my address in the Cambridge district.

They wore slogan-printed T-shirts and held signs reading "Protect Dr. Ricci" and "Stop the Lies". They looked organized, like a coordinated group.

They demanded that I apologize to Olivia.

"Sofia Rossi, you liar, come out!"

"Slandering a good person like Dr. Ricci… do you have no conscience?"

"Dr. Ricci saved my mother’s life. Who do you think you are to hurt her like this?!"

Rotten vegetables, foul-smelling eggs, and even unopened cans of drinks rained down on me.

I covered my head and tried desperately to force my way through. "Move! Please move! My mother is in the hospital. She’s dying!"

No one listened.

Someone shoved me hard.

I crashed onto the concrete. My knee split open, blood pouring out. The pain made me gasp, but I didn’t dare stop. I struggled to push myself up.

"You want to pass?" a woman at the front shouted. "Then admit on camera right now that you’re lying!"

She held up her phone. The camera was practically shoved into my face, the flash blinding me.

"Record it! Let the whole world see what a liar looks like!" the crowd jeered, tightening around me again, leaving no path at all to get away and to see my mother one last time.

I gave in.

I collapsed onto the ground, filthy and humiliated. Ignoring the blood streaming down my forehead, I stared into those cold lenses and spoke words that went against my soul, trembling like a puppet on strings.

"It was me... I lied. I was jealous of Olivia. The photos were photoshopped. The data was fabricated. I’m sorry, Olivia Ricci..."

Humiliated tears mixed with blood and ran into my mouth. In that moment, my dignity was ground into the dirt.

Those righteous crusaders looked like they had just won a battle. They smiled in satisfaction.

"If you’d done this earlier, it wouldn’t have come to this."

"Since your attitude is acceptable, we’ll forgive you."

With the video they wanted secured, they dispersed contentedly, as if they had just carried out some great act of justice.

I was finally able to continue to the hospital.

However, by the time I reached Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center, it was already too late.

My mother had stopped breathing. She lay on the hospital bed, her face pale, drained of all color.

The doctor removed his mask and sighed. "I’m very sorry. The patient went into cardiac arrest half an hour ago. We did everything we could."

For a brief moment, I thought I was trapped inside a long, endless dream.

When the dream ended, I would still be the little girl who slept in her mother’s arms. I would not have met Dante or have lived through these nightmares.

My mother would still be alive and healthy. We would still take walks and talk together by the Boston River.

However, reality struck me down without mercy.

I chose the wrong man, and I didn’t even get to see my mother one last time.

That day, I knelt beside the hospital bed and cried helplessly for a long, long time.

My tears dried up. My throat went hoarse. Still, I could not stop.

The nurse, who had cared for my mother all this time, had red eyes as she told me my mother’s last words.

"Your mother kept calling your name at the very end. She said that no matter why you didn’t make it in time, she doesn’t blame you. She only hoped that you and your husband would live well together.

"She also said Dante is a good child and that she hadn’t misjudged him back then. She told you not to blame him, to cherish him."

Hearing this, my heart felt as if it was being torn apart by hands.

My mother died without ever knowing the truth. She died believing Dante was a good man. She died thinking only of my happiness.

And me?

I didn’t even get to see her one last time.

I held my mother’s cold hand and sat dazed on the floor, silent for a long time.

The procedures that followed became a blur.

Returning to our hometown. Cremation. The funeral.

Everything felt like it was happening inside a dream.

I went through every step mechanically, my insides terrifyingly hollow.

In the end, I sat alone in a plain funeral parlor. It was empty all around me. Not a single person came to pay their respects.

After all, the Falcone family had already sent word. Anyone who dared attend the funeral of Sofia Rossi’s mother would be declaring war on the Falcone family, on the entire Boston underworld.

The neighbors who had once been close to my mother didn’t dare show their faces.

I kept vigil alone and placed one final call to Dante.

At the very least, he should have come to see the woman, who once funded his education, and send my mother off on her final journey.

When the call connected, I realized my voice was already so hoarse it barely sounded human. I used all my strength just to force out those few words.

"Mom... passed away."

However, the voice that came through the phone was Olivia’s soft and sweet tone.

"Oh, that’s unfortunate, but Dante doesn’t have time to see you right now. He’s with me at a very important summit jointly hosted by the American Medical Association and the family’s foundation. We just finished a surgical demonstration. We’re heading to a champagne party to celebrate."

"Who was that?" Dante’s voice followed. His tone was light, even amused. Clearly, he was in a very good mood.

I hung up the phone numbly.

I knelt in front of the funeral parlor for three days and three nights, without sleep. My mind replayed every fragment of my mother’s life over and over again.

How she scrimped and saved to send me to college.

How she stayed up all night caring for me when I was sick.

How she stood up for me when I was bullied.

As for me, I didn’t even get to see her one last time.

After that, I returned calmly to Boston.

I bought a plane ticket. I sorted through my assets and took care of everything that needed to be handled.

Finally, I agreed to divorce Dante.