The ward door burst open.

Startled, Loren sprang away from Arthur’s arms like a frightened rabbit.

Abraham stepped in cautiously, his small face flushed as he cradled a lunch box with both hands.

“Abraham, did you bring this for Mommy?” I asked softly, warmth blooming in my chest despite the pain. I knew he couldn’t cook, but seeing him here, so concerned, still touched me.

To my surprise, Abraham’s expression twisted into a frown.

“It’s not for you,” he muttered. “I bought it for Aunt Loren with my own pocket money.”

My breath caught.

“What did you just say?” My voice trembled—not from weakness, but from anger.

Abraham looked away, face full of irritation—so much like his father’s.

Loren seized the moment and rushed to the bedside, gripping my wrist tightly. “Sister, I’m so glad you’re okay! Does it still hurt? I was so scared... It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t—”

I pulled my hand away and rasped, “Yes, I am hurt. All because of you.”

At that moment, my parents entered the room, their expressions stormy.

My mother frowned. “She’s just worried about you. How can you speak to her like that?”

My father shook his head and sighed. “You’ve always had a difficult personality. If it weren’t for Loren’s patience, who could put up with you?”

Loren’s shoulders quivered as tears streamed down her cheeks. She looked heartbreakingly pitiful. “I’m sorry... It’s all my fault...”

Then, casting one last sorrowful glance at Arthur, she turned and ran out of the ward.

Arthur watched her go with a conflicted gaze. Then, without a word to me, he followed her.

Not even a glance back.

Abraham spun on me, eyes blazing. “Look at you! You’re nothing compared to Aunt Loren! You should’ve divorced Dad a long time ago and let her take your place!”

I stared at him, stunned.

This was the same child I had given up everything for.

When he was born with health issues, I’d quit a promising career and dedicated three years of my life—day and night—to care for him, nourish him, raise him into the healthy boy he was now.

And this was what he had become?

“Abraham!” My mother grabbed his arm in alarm. “Don’t talk nonsense!”

But he wrenched away. “She’s the one who bullies people! No wonder Dad doesn’t want her!”

I turned to the window. The sun was bright outside, but in this room, all I felt was cold.

Abraham pouted as his father disappeared. He tugged at Loren’s mother’s sleeve and whined, “I want to stay with Aunt Loren! I want to buy her candy so she won’t be sad!”

Lin’s mother stroked his head gently. “Alright, we’ll go find her together.”

Before leaving, she looked at me and said, without warmth, “You should rest.”

Then they were gone.

For the next five days, no one visited.

Not my husband, not my son, not even my parents.

I might as well have been invisible.

Alone, I smiled bitterly and pulled out my phone to order takeout.

The delivery man was more considerate than my so-called family. He set up the food neatly, adjusted the bed for me, and even asked if I needed help.

As I ate in silence, I couldn’t help but think: even strangers show more care than those closest to me.

---

The day I was discharged, I didn’t go home.

I went straight to the research institute.

By the time Arthur arrived—still glued to Loren—I had already brought the police with me to gather evidence.

He stormed in, face dark with fury. “She’s your sister, and you called the police?”

“For a good reason,” I said coldly.

“You’re unbelievable! Everyone’s right—you’re just an ungrateful woman!”

I laughed. “If you weren’t guilty, why would you be so nervous? Afraid the truth might come out?”

“Arthur, when Loren tampered with equipment, waste leaked and crucial data was lost. We’ve spent days and nights collecting that research. You’re the institute director—shouldn’t you care more about the team than defending her?”

“I’ll take responsibility for all damages,” he snapped.

“And my injury?” I asked, voice sharp.

“What else do you want from me?” His tone turned cold. “I’ll give you anything—just stop bothering Loren.”

“Anything?” I stared at the man I’d spent seven years with and saw a stranger. “Even your dignity?”

The knife in my hand glinted. I held it out, pressing it against his chest.

“My back is covered in burns. How about you give me a patch of skin as compensation?”

“Fine!” he barked. No hesitation.

Arthur, third-generation heir of the prestigious Slater Family, renowned doctor—ready to do anything for Loren.

My hand trembled. The blade felt like ice in my palm.

Just as I pressed it forward, Loren screamed, “No!”

She flung herself in front of him.

The knife slashed her forearm. Bright blood spilled down her pale skin.

She whimpered in pain, curling in on herself, still shielding him. “Sister, please... don’t...”

Arthur’s face contorted in horror. “Lora, look what you’ve done!”

Loren stumbled back into his arms. He caught her, his hands instantly pressing against the bleeding wound.

Then he looked up at me—and for the first time, I saw real hatred in his eyes.

I shivered.

I turned, fumbling for supplies to stop the bleeding, but he barked, “You think you can hurt her and just walk away?”

Loren’s face was deathly pale, but she tugged on his sleeve. “Don’t blame Sister... she’s just upset... it’s my fault...”

“If anything happens to her,” Arthur snarled, lifting her in his arms, “I’ll make you pay.”

The door slammed behind him with a deafening bang.

One sleepless day and night.

After countless hours of work, I finally completed my final task at the institute.

When the last document was handed over, my juniors hugged me tightly, reluctant to let go, their warmth wrapping around me like a soft farewell.

But the warmth ended at the lab doors.

The moment I opened the villa gate, a chilling scene stopped me cold.

Floating silently in the pool was a soaked, lifeless Yorkshire terrier.

His once-fluffy fur drifted gently with the ripples, as though trying to wag one last time.

Greeting me. Saying goodbye.

I stood frozen, unable to comprehend what I was seeing.

Then came the voice, bright and cruel, from behind me.

“Who told you to bully Aunt Loren? This is your punishment!”

Abraham laughed, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

My chest constricted.

Molly.

The stray I rescued six years ago.

It took endless coaxing before Arthur begrudgingly agreed to keep him.

Over the years, Molly became family to me—my silent companion, my shadow, my comforter. In every way that mattered, he was my second child.

And now, he was gone. Drowned.

I stepped forward with trembling hands, reaching toward his tiny, still body. But the moment my fingers touched the cold water, I flinched and drew back.

Tears blurred my vision.

And then—for the first time—I raised my hand and struck my son.

The sound of the slap cracked through the still air.

Abraham clutched his cheek, stunned. His expression twisted, not in remorse, but in fury.

“I don’t want you to be my mother! Dad doesn’t like you either! So why are you still in our house?!”

With that, he turned and ran off, crying—but proud, chin held high.

Every word sliced through me like a blade.

No mother can hear such hatred from her own child and remain whole.

A buzzing filled my ears. My knees nearly gave out.

Still, I swallowed the grief and pain, and quietly buried Molly beneath the old tree he loved to nap under.

I placed his favorite rubber bone beside him, along with the chewed-up ball he always carried in his mouth.

It was as though he’d never existed.

Just like me.

Seven years of selfless care, devotion, and sacrifice—and in the end, I left no trace in this house.

Not in his heart.

Not in either of theirs.

As I finished covering the grave, a sharp breeze brushed past me, carrying with it a familiar scent—fresh mint.

I turned around.

Arthur stood there, arms crossed, face blank.

So alike, he and our son. The same cold detachment. The same pride. The same arrogance.

“You made the first mistake,” he said flatly, eyes flicking to my tear-streaked face. “But Abraham’s reaction was too much. Still, it doesn’t make sense for a dog to pay for a human’s mistake.”

His voice held no warmth. No remorse.

Just judgment.

Then he frowned and walked away.

Don’t worry, I thought bitterly. I won’t be in the way much longer.

I returned to the house and began packing.

It took me less than thirty minutes to gather everything I owned.

Seven years.

And almost nothing here truly belonged to me.

I had bought countless clothes and toys for Abraham over the years, but he never liked them.

Since he didn’t want them, I would give them to children who did.

I hailed a taxi to the welfare home I had contacted.

The director received me warmly, deeply grateful for the clothes and toys I brought. Winter was coming, and every bit helped.

The children gathered excitedly, digging through the toys with bright eyes and delighted laughter.

Their carefree joy was infectious.

For the first time in days—maybe years—my heart felt light.

I had never truly known what “home” felt like, not even as a child. My parents were cold, present in name only.

Yet here, in this small orphanage, I saw children wrapped in laughter, in simplicity, in each other.

And I realized something.

What I’ve longed for all along wasn’t them—not my parents, not Arthur, not even Abraham.

It was that fragile, precious thing called home.

And now that I’d finally understood it... I could let go.

The air felt lighter as I stepped back outside. But my peace was short-lived.

Just as I turned a corner on the walk back, two figures lunged from the shadows.

One threw a sack over my head, and before I could scream, the other grabbed my legs and lifted me into a waiting van.

I kicked, twisted, clawed at the fabric—but a heavy blow slammed into the back of my skull.

Everything went black.