A guttural scream tore from my throat, wave after wave of raw despair.

*Calm down?*

*How am I supposed to calm down?*

My son was a cold corpse lying on a hospital bed. Yet Leon Weiss expected me to return to that place and nurse a child who was already gone.

I collapsed to the floor, wailing until my voice broke.

The next day, dragging a body that felt filled with lead, I went to cancel my son's identity registration. At the entrance of the bureau, I spotted Leon reporting to a superior.

"Director, the mission is complete." His voice was clipped and professional. "Zero casualties on site."

The words struck me like a physical blow. I screamed, rushing forward to confront him.

"That's a lie! My son is dead!"

Leon's eyes narrowed. In one fluid motion, he yanked me behind him, turning to the director with an apologetic, practiced smile.

"My apologies, Director. Rose is... unstable. She tells everyone she meets that our child has passed."

He paused, his tone shifting to one of heavy, performative sorrow. "The doctor and Claire both believe the trauma triggered a delusional disorder."

The director sighed, patting Leon's shoulder. "You've had a hard time too, Leon. Go home. Take care of your family."

The moment the director walked away, the mask dropped.

A vein throbbed at Leon's temple. He spun around and cracked his hand across my face.

"Rose Fisher, have you lost your mind?" His voice was a low growl. "I'm warning you—don't cause me any more trouble."

I crumpled, clutching his lapels to keep from falling. "Why won't you listen? Would I use our son's life to lie to you?"

Leon's gaze went arctic. "You came back yesterday acting like a lunatic and nearly strangled the dog. Today, you're making a scene at the bureau." He shoved my hands away. "I think Claire is right. You need psychiatric help."

I tried to explain. I begged him to listen.

But Leon was deaf to my words. He insisted I was insane.

Because of his label—*crazy person*—the staff refused to even look at the bloodstained medical records in my hand. They wouldn't issue the death certificate.

Defeated, I could only leave.

Three days later, I held a small funeral for David Matthews.

The mourning hall was cold and desolate. Aside from a few stone-faced staff members, I was the only one by David's side.

Just as the final farewell ended and my son's small body was about to be consigned to the furnace, the main doors burst open.

Leon stormed in, his face livid.

"Rose Fisher, are you done with the theatrics? Hand David over! Do you have any idea how frantic I've been looking for him these past two days?"

He scanned the mourning hall, his fury mounting. "You really are sick. Holding a funeral for a living person?"

With a roar, he swept the offerings off the altar. They crashed to the floor, scattering ash and fruit.

The staff stepped forward, shouting at him to stop, but I was faster.

I charged at him with a hoarse cry, wanting to tear the flesh from his bones.

He shoved me back effortlessly. My waist slammed into the sharp corner of a table, the pain blinding me for a second. Tears sprang to my eyes.

I slumped to the floor, glaring up at him. "You said you looked for David for two days. Did it never occur to you to check the hospital?"

Leon's brow furrowed in impatience. "Of course I looked. The hospital said there was no patient by that name, so I came for you." He took a threatening step forward. "Cut the crap. Where is our son?"

A hollow, chilling laugh escaped me. In the empty crematorium, it sounded like the cry of a ghost.

"Of course he isn't on the admission list." My voice was a rasp. "You should have checked the morgue records."

I pointed a trembling finger at the coffin.

"David didn't even make it out of the emergency room before he was a cold corpse."

Leon's expression froze for a split second before twisting into a sneer.

"Rose, I'm realizing now that you aren't just crazy—you're committed to the bit."

He glared at the white silk drapes and the small coffin, his eyes filled with skepticism. "Putting on such a show. Fine. I want to see exactly what you're burying in there."

He started toward the coffin.

I couldn't let him disturb my son's final rest. Ignoring the tearing pain in my side, I clawed my way across the floor to block his path.

"Get out! Don't you dare touch David with your dirty hands!"

Seeing me block him, Leon's temper snapped. His boot connected hard with my ribs.

I was thrown aside like a rag doll, skidding several yards. Blood from a cut on my forehead dripped down, staining the pristine white silk crimson.

The next second, with a loud *bang*, Leon shoved the coffin lid aside.

Silence descended.

Leon stood paralyzed. For the first time, the arrogance shattered, replaced by pure shock.

Our son's eyes were tightly closed. His once-rosy face was the color of bruised marble—pale, blue, and purple. His body was a map of agony, raw flesh and charred skin. The chemical sting of formalin burned in the air.

"No... this is impossible." Leon's voice trembled, cracking under the weight of reality. He had never imagined the injuries were this severe.

"It's a prank, right? You two are playing a trick on me." He reached in, shaking the small shoulders. "Get up, David. Okay, you got me. Dad is scared. That's enough now..."

He pushed David, calling his name, begging for a reaction.

But the rigid, icy stillness under his fingertips told him the truth. The boy in front of him was meat and bone, void of life.

"No... no... David—"

Leon staggered back, his legs giving out. He hit the floor hard, his voice ragged with horror. "This isn't real... how could it be like this? My David..."

Watching him, I felt no vindication. No pleasure of revenge.

Only a vast, hollow ache.

I pulled myself up and walked slowly to the coffin, my voice numb.

"Do you believe me now, Leon?"

I looked down at the small, still face. "For days, whenever I close my eyes, I see him in pain. He cried and told me, *'Mom, it hurts so much.'* He asked why his Daddy didn't come to save him."

The thought that my son would never smile at me, never hug me, never whine for a toy again, broke me anew. My tears pattered against the wood of the coffin.

I turned on Leon, screaming through my sobs.

"How could you be so cruel? He was seven! When that bomb exploded against his chest, do you know how much he suffered?"

"Why didn't you save him? *Why?*"

Leon waved his hands frantically, stammering as if trying to convince himself. "Because the dog... A Jin was more fragile! David was a healthy boy; he healed fast. I thought... I thought he could handle it."

He looked up, eyes wild. "I didn't want to kill him! If David were here, he'd forgive me!"

The sheer shamelessness of the man made me want to laugh.

Even the cremation worker spat on the ground near Leon's feet. "Looking at your own child's corpse and spouting such garbage? That dog must be your real son."

Leon finally broke. He crawled to the coffin, kneeling and weeping bitterly. "I'm sorry, David. Dad was wrong... Dad is so sorry..."