Daryl Carson and Jennie Gilbert’s daughter had a rare blood coagulation disorder.

Because the three of them went to Disneyland and she accidentally got hit on the head by a car,

Daryl took my twin sons to the operating room and drained 1000cc of their blood.

I fell to my knees and begged him desperately:

“The children are so young, they can’t possibly handle that much blood loss. Please spare them. I’ll give every drop of my own blood to save her...”

Daryl held Jennie by the waist and looked at me with cold impatience.

“It’s just a transfusion, not their lives. Overprotective mothers ruin children. Let Jennie raise them from now on. You’re unfit to be a mother.”

The moment Jennie’s daughter came out of surgery, Daryl summoned every doctor to her side.

That night, my sons died from excessive blood loss, but Daryl lit fireworks in celebration of Jennie and her daughter’s survival.

Clutching my sons’ bloodied bodies, I went to Carson's mother: “Auntie, please let me go. You raised me, you know me. Without my children, I can’t stay in this family anymore.”

——

...I rushed into the emergency room, carrying the lifeless bodies of my sons, and dropped to my knees, begging the doctors for help.

The doctor hurriedly pulled me up, stared at me, then asked in disbelief, “How could you be their mother? They’ve lost so much blood, and you’re only coming now? Do you even care?”

The pain in his words shattered me. I broke down, sobbing. “I’m sorry—it’s all my fault. I should have donated blood, not them. Please, save them…”

The doctor’s face turned grim. “They died from blood loss. If they’d arrived just an hour earlier, we might have saved them.”

I bit my lip hard, my nails digging into my palms.

Right as Jennie’s daughter came out of surgery, Daryl called all the doctors to her side, ignoring our son, unconscious from blood loss.

I called Daryl, begging him to send a doctor. He scolded me instead.

“You’re panicking over a little blood? The child’s just spoiled. Keri’s condition is unstable—don’t create more trouble!”

Then he hung up. When I called again, no one picked up.

I rushed to the garage to drive the boys to the hospital, but both cars were gone.

Jennie had sent the drivers to buy snowflake crisps from the north and fried yogurt from the south—Keri’s cravings after waking up.

I carried my children down the mountain on foot for ten kilometers. My feet were torn, my heart breaking.

But I was still too late.

The boys who called me “Mom” that morning lay silent in my arms. I wiped the blood from their faces and knelt before the doctor.

“My sons aren’t dead yet. Please try again, please save them…”

People passed through the hospital halls, pausing at the sight of my bloodied, purple-faced children.

Then a deliveryman appeared, holding a Chanel bag and two boxes of fried yogurt.

He read a message from his phone out loud to me.

“Keri’s bleeding has stopped. You and your kids did well. These clothes and snacks are your reward. Go home, replenish their blood, and prepare for the spinal cord extraction.”

His tone was light and careless—not how a husband should speak to his wife and children.

Those nearby began to whisper in outrage.

“Look at those needle marks on the kid’s arms… is she selling their blood?”

“She sounds like a mistress—bringing her kids to sell blood to some rich man. Shameless!”

“Bah, the child is dead, and she’s still pretending to be motherly. Shameless!”

Suddenly, with a loud bang!, fireworks lit up the night sky.

The tallest electronic billboard on the Carson Building flashed the words “Congratulations to Keri Gilbert on her recovery and long life” to all of Anaheim City.

I looked up at the window, and the brilliant fireworks stabbed my eyes.

“It’s frustrating how unfair life is. Some children recover and the whole city celebrates, while others are killed by their own mothers.”

“True. Mr. Carson really treasures that Mrs. Gilbert and her daughter. Anyone born into that family would be lucky.”

“Haha, just don’t get reborn as someone like her.”

Their words cut like knives, slicing through my heart and gut.

Inside the operating room, my children's cries echoed in my head.

They were only five—so afraid of needles they’d bury themselves in my arms, yet they were drained alive.

Even as they trembled and whimpered, they still tried to soothe me:

“Mom, don’t cry. The baby will feel sad. Baby will lie down and be good.”

I was worthless. I couldn’t even protect my own children...

Everything went dark. A metallic taste rose in my throat, and I collapsed onto the cold hospital floor.

At that moment, Mrs. Carson arrived and saw it all—the blood, the lifeless children.

The color drained from her face. If the housekeeper hadn’t caught her, she would’ve collapsed too.

“This was Daryl’s doing? That beast! That monster! Get someone here—I’ll break his legs myself!”

But when the housekeeper turned on his phone, all he saw were trending headlines:

“Young Master Carson Spares No Expense to Make Mrs. Gilbert and Daughter Smile”

“Top Pick for Rebirth: Be Keri”

Even Daryl posted: “As long as Keri is safe, I’d give up everything.”

At Jennie’s lavish recovery banquet, 9,999 red roses caught everyone’s attention.

She raised her hand, flashing a pink diamond ring worth tens of millions, and posted:

“Life is simple. Not loving is the original sin.”

It was a direct slap in the face to me—Mrs. Carson.

Over the years, she had pulled stunts like this again and again, and every time, I was the one left ridiculed.

Mrs. Carson grabbed the phone and dialed Daryl.

Jennie’s sultry voice came through:

“Honey, tonight I’ll please you however you like…”

Everyone in the room stiffened, exchanging silent, knowing looks.

Their gazes turned toward me—pity, scorn, mockery... and still, it wasn’t enough.

Mrs. Carson trembled with fury, her voice trembling as she snapped,

“You little brat! Do you even know where your wife and children are?”

Daryl paused, sounding irritated.

“How should I know? Go ask Darla Parker about those trivial things.”

“Your son is dead! Get to the hospital now!”

The old woman lost control, her face soaked in tears.

A moment of silence.

Then Jennie’s sweet voice came again:

“Daryl, I’m cold. You promised tonight was just for me…”

Daryl responded in a low voice,

“Mom, don’t believe Darla. She lies constantly. Don’t be manipulated by her.”

The so-called lie he referred to?

That his son had a fever and wanted to see him—but he twisted it as moral blackmail.

That it was just a school event, I asked him to attend—but he called it a manipulative setup.

The call ended.

I looked up at Mrs. Carson, my voice is hoarse.

“Auntie, you raised me. Please let me go. Without my child, I can’t stay in this family any longer.”

I came to the Carson family when I was eight. The Carson and Parker families were long-time friends. After my parents died in a car crash, Mrs. Carson brought me in and raised me like her own daughter.

I first met Daryl in our garden. Back then, he was mischievous, had broken his leg, and sat in a wheelchair. He was withdrawn and rarely spoke.

I helped him with rehab, kept him company, and shared his joy the first time he stood up again.

We hugged tightly, our hearts so close they seemed to beat as one.

Daryl said I was his white moonlight—the only woman he’d ever marry.

We got engaged, married, and had twin sons all at once, becoming the young couple everyone in Anaheim City admired.

But I never expected that during our children's first birthday party, the poor student I once sponsored would show up pregnant and cause a scene.

Daryl didn’t explain—he just kept slapping himself, claiming he mistook Jennie for me after drinking.

I was disgusted and wanted to divorce him, but then I saw the twins stumbling toward me, calling “Mom,” and Mrs. Carson pleading for me to stay.

I gave in.

Now, my tears won’t stop. I was wrong. I never should’ve compromised. Maybe then, my children wouldn’t have become cold corpses.

Mrs. Carson wiped the blood from my lips, her eyes brimming with guilt.

“Darla, I failed you. I should’ve let you go when Daryl first messed up.”

“It’s not your fault the child died. If you want to leave, then go. You don’t owe us anything this time.”

I finally broke down, sobbing in her arms.

Back at home, Daryl sat on the sofa, eyes sharp as blades.

“Darla, you’re getting craftier. You took advantage of my slight guilt after our son’s transfusion and played the victim at the hospital. Then you turned public opinion and ran crying to my mother. Shameless.”

“To force me back, you even cursed the child to die. Now I’m here—where is he? Where did you hide him? If this delays the spinal cord surgery, the day after tomorrow…”

My heart turned ice cold. I cut him off harshly.

“The child is dead. Don’t even think about taking his spinal cord.”

Daryl froze for a moment, then let out a cold laugh.

“You’re insane. Using our child like this? Look at yourself—you’re not even fit to be a mother.”

“After the surgery, Jennie will adopt the child. She’ll be a thousand times better and raise him right.”

My eyes burned red. I didn’t respond to his insults. I simply took out a crooked airplane model and a wrinkled clay doll from the nursery.

The boys made them for Daryl’s birthday. Just last night, they were huddled together, fighting over who would give their gift first.

Now, life and death have split them apart. There’s no “first” anymore.

I wanted to keep the gifts myself—but they were the children’s final wishes. I couldn’t be selfish.

Midnight struck.

I choked back my pain and held back the nausea.

“This is the birthday gift the children made for you.”

Daryl glanced at it and tossed it into the trash.

“I’ve told you, they’re boys. One day, they’ll inherit the Carson family. Making stuff like this is a waste—childish and aimless.”

“As their mother, you failed to guide them and even dared to flaunt this to me? Is that your idea of parenting? They’re not even half as clever as Keri.”

I listened numbly. A cold, bitter smile curled at the corner of my lips.