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.

The past drifted away like smoke, scattering like passing clouds.

Before boarding the plane, I sat inside a cafe at Logan International Airport and began my final preparations.

I was never the type to accept being bullied. All these years, as the so-called "decorative wife", I hadn’t wasted my time. I had been quietly gathering evidence.

Evidence on both Dante and Olivia.

I organized the real financial statements of the Olivia Ricci Foundation.

They clearly showed that she had siphoned large amounts of research funding for personal use: Hermes bags, Cartier jewelry, and a vacation estate in the Hamptons. More importantly, those accounts were directly tied to the family’s money-laundering network.

I also compiled the complete access logs, showing how she stole data from my private cloud server.

Login IPs. Download timestamps. Full file lists.

That evidence alone was enough to prove her academic fraud and corporate espionage.

More than that, I had something even deadlier. I had proof that Dante bribed the hospital and caused my mother’s death.

That day at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center, even while I was drowning in grief, I kept a sliver of clarity.

I secretly recorded conversations between doctors and nurses. They mentioned that the dialysis equipment failure was no accident. Someone had paid them cash to cause a small accident at the critical moment.

Those recordings were safely stored.

Now, it was time to let the evidence speak.

First, I sent the proof of Olivia’s academic fraud to the National Institutes of Health and the American Medical Association.

Then I sent evidence of her embezzlement and money laundering to the Internal Revenue Service and to major media outlets, including The Boston Globe and The Washington Post.

Finally, I forwarded the evidence implicating Dante in intentional homicide and organized crime to the Massachusetts State Police and the FBI’s Organized Crime Task Force, copying multiple media organizations.

Only after confirming that every email had been successfully delivered did I finally exhale.

Online hatred toward me still flooded the internet. When I clicked into any random Twitter topic, I could see my face photoshopped into grotesque images meant for ridicule.

Meanwhile, on Olivia’s Instagram page, her deeply moving statement was still pinned at the top. It was posted on the day I was forced to publicly recant the marriage certificate.

"Olivia Ricci: Keep your heart pure. The truth will prevail. Let them throw stones. I sleep soundly every night knowing I’ve helped save lives. Thank you all for the love and support. Together, we spread healing. #TruthPrevails #HealingHands"

The comments beneath were overflowing with sympathy and praise.

"Olivia is truly kind. Even facing such a vicious woman, she never loses her principles."

"This is real grace. People who rely on dirty tricks to slander others will never understand."

"Dr. Ricci is my role model. I want to learn from her and do more good."

"Stand with Dr. Ricci! Justice always wins!"

I curled my lips into a mocking smile and let out a quiet laugh.

'Very soon, you’ll learn what "federal justice" really means.'