At the sound of his words, Greta straightened up and shot me a mocking look, her eyes full of contempt.

The others perked up, their greedy eyes fixed on me, as some of them began placing bets.

"I’ll bet 100 bucks she won’t kneel. She actually thought she could challenge Greta? She’s completely lost it."

"She’s probably going to cry and beg James to forgive her. That fake-dead kid might show up too and both of them are begging together."

Without a second thought, I forced myself up and slammed my forehead to the floor, desperate to show my submission. "I’m sorry! I was wrong!"

The broken toy plane jabbed into my forehead and blood spilled out, but I felt nothing … numb to the world around me. I continued to kneel and bow, again and again, but I never reached the end.

Every time I moved forward, Greta laughed cruelly and took a step back, as if she were playing with a dog, forcing me to crawl in endless circles.

The crowd’s tone around me slowly changed from entertained to worried.

"James, Greta, maybe it’s enough? She’s bleeding heavily. What if something terrible happens to her?"

"Yeah, look at her lips … she’s so pale. What if she dies here?"

"Honestly, if she’s leaving, now’s the perfect time. James, it’s time you give Greta her rightful title."

I stopped and glanced back. Blood from my forehead had left a long, shocking streak.

I wasn't planning to stop. Just as I was about to kneel once more …

James kicked me down mercilessly and threw the signed divorce papers at me.

"Enough! I signed it! Stop pretending! You’re pathetic. Do you really think I wouldn’t divorce you?"

"Take your kid and leave! But remember, if you walk out that door, your son won’t see a penny from me!"

"Don’t even think I’ll ever acknowledge you two again!"

I had lost so much blood that standing felt like an impossible task. But I forced myself to rise, grabbing the divorce papers with trembling hands.

James glared at me, his gaze burning into me. I turned to the last page, checked the signature and allowed myself a bitter smile.

"Fine. I’ll go pack my son’s things and take him with me."

I turned and walked into my son’s room, feeling the weight of the moment.

As soon as the door closed, the chaos outside went quiet. I leaned against the door and my vision blurred with tears.

My son’s small blanket was still rumpled. The fairy tale book we didn’t finish reading last night was still on the bedside table.

It felt like any moment, he would jump out of the wardrobe pretending to be a ghost to scare me.

I wiped away my tears and grabbed a suitcase from the wardrobe to pack my son's things.

His clothes, toys, books and the little crafts he made in kindergarten … I packed them one by one, laughing and crying. Then I found a small drift bottle.

Inside was a yellowed piece of paper. I opened it and froze. It was an IOU note between James and our son.

When our son was three and super clingy, he insisted on sleeping with me every night. James, frustrated, would sneak in halfway through the night, carry me back to our room and mutter.

"This is ridiculous. I gave birth to a jealous little rival!"

"Honey, I miss you too. Can't you spend more time with me?"

But before he could go far, our chubby little boy would wake up, chase after him and hit him with his little fists, yelling that he was “stealing mommy.”

Then they had no choice but to make a deal: one night each. If either of them wanted an extra night, they had to write an IOU.

James had plenty of tricks to win our son over and eventually, he had a pile of IOUs.

Our son kept asking for them back, but James always came up with some excuse to avoid it.

After Greta returned from abroad, I started sleeping with our son more often. I thought he'd be happy, but instead, he became quieter with each passing day.

"Mommy, did you and Daddy have a fight? He hasn’t come to see me in a long time."

He pulled me toward the master bedroom, knocked on the door and said he wrote an IOU so Daddy would sleep with Mommy.

But when I opened the door, there was Greta … lying weak and flushed on the bed.

The painful memory hit me again and my heart ached. I didn’t want to think about it anymore. With shaking hands, I opened my son’s last note, written in his messy, childlike handwriting.

“I want Mommy and Daddy to take me to Disneyland to watch the fireworks!”

This was a wish my son had been talking about since the start of the year, but James kept canceling the appointment because of Greta and up to now, it still hadn’t happened.

But now, he’d missed his chance forever.

Fighting back regret, I booked plane tickets for the next afternoon and packed the suitcase.

Before I knew it, I had curled up on my son's small bed, trying to catch the last bit of his scent.

My tired mind drifted off to sleep. In the middle of the night, I woke up to strange noises.

When I opened my eyes in confusion, I saw James and Greta kissing.

"James, weren’t we just here to figure out how to turn this room into a princess room? Why are you getting so touchy?"

I quickly sat up. James gave me a taunting look without stopping what he was doing.

Greta gazed at me with playful eyes, "Evelyn, don’t be mad. We just want Noah to get used to the idea of having a little sister. After all, they’ll grow up together."

"Can’t the five of us just live happily as one big family?"

They were shamelessly tangled on my son's bed. My stomach churned and my head felt hot.

James saw me shaking with anger. Instead of feeling sorry, he confronted me instead.

"Evelyn, I checked everything. Your son didn’t go to the hospital for an allergy that day. Where did you hide him?"

"Enough! Keep this up and I’ll really leave you both!"

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I threw up right on both of them.

James froze. Greta's face changed as she clutched her stomach in pain.

"James … my stomach … it really hurts … "

Panicked, James grabbed her, knocking me over in the process. "If something happens to the baby, your son will pay for it!"

Once again, I was the only one left in the room. I stood up quietly, grabbed my suitcase and walked out.

The sky was still dark and the street was empty. The cold night wind cut through my collar, making me shiver. With each step, dizziness from blood loss hit me, but I kept going.

Finally, at dawn, I reached the cemetery.

The burial plot I bought for my son that morning had an empty coffin. I knelt next to it, opened the suitcase and put his favorite things inside, one by one.

Only the spot for the urn was left.

I looked at the urn in my hands and imagined holding my son.

"After Mommy shows you the world, we’ll come back here to rest. Okay?"

At the hospital, James stayed with Greta through a whole night of tests. Once the doctor confirmed her baby was fine, he finally sighed in relief.

He sat outside the exam room, rubbing his temples. The vomit on his clothes was dry, but the smell stayed.

In the past, he would’ve dragged Evelyn out and yelled at her. But this time, he felt a strange fear.

He realized his son’s things were gone. And Evelyn’s face was full of sorrow.

At that moment, Mr. Carson, the housekeeper who took care of the grandparents, rushed over. James waved his hand in frustration. “Mr. Carson, if you're here to lie to me again about my son’s death, just shut up. I won’t believe it.”

Mr. Carson’s face was full of mixed emotions and sorrow. He bowed respectfully. “Sir, this time it’s not about Noah. Mr. Laurent has been hospitalized after suffering heart attacks. If you’re free, please come and see them.”

James rushed to the ICU. As he pushed open the door, a glass cup flew toward him and shattered against the doorframe.

Mr. Laurent, wearing an oxygen mask, glared at him as if he wanted to tear him apart.

“You beast who killed your own son! How dare you show your face here? Get out!”