“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.

I still remember how happy Daryl was the night our child was born. He kissed our son’s cheek and swore through tears:

As long as the child is healthy and happy, nothing else matters.

But everything changed when Jennie accused me of using plush toys with toxic materials, claiming they caused Keri's acute leukemia.

Daryl began to resent me—and his son, too.

At just five years old, our child was sent to a strict, elite boarding school.

No holidays, no toys, no scrapes or mother's gentle hugs—only cold rules and endless routines far beyond his age.

Trying not to disappoint his father, our son gave up his game console and toys, studying late into the night, always wearing a serious expression far too mature for his years.

Keri’s birthday was held on a cruise ship. Our boys had simply wanted to give their father a handmade birthday gift—but never got the chance.

Seeing the bitterness in my smile, Daryl paused, as if he wanted to speak—then his phone rang.

It was Keri’s sweet voice when I answered.

“Daddy, why aren't you home yet? Keri bought you a cake and made a birthday gift.”

Daryl's face softened, and he replied gently, “Okay, Daddy will be home soon and bring you your favorite Barbie doll.”

So, he did have a tender side after all.

He remembered her preferences and didn’t think she was a burden.

But once the call ended, he turned back to me with that same irritated tone.

“Keri’s bone marrow transplant is the day after tomorrow. Bring your son here—if not, don’t blame me for what happens!”

With that threat, he rushed off. The car's roar outside echoed his urgency.

I wiped away my tears and retrieved the airplane model and clay figurine from the trash.

They were handmade by my children. Some might see them as junk, but to me, they’re priceless.

The next morning, the children's bodies were sent for cremation.

I clung to them the entire way, pressing my face to their cold skin, trying to absorb what little warmth and memory remained.

They went in as two small bodies—what came out were two cold, weightless urns.

Sitting outside the funeral home, Mrs. Carson clutched her phone, her brow furrowed.

She had called Daryl over thirty times, begging him to attend. He never answered. Instead, he called me.

His voice was hoarse, as though he'd cried—but it didn’t hide the fury.

“Darla, you’re impossible! What else do you do all day but complain? You can’t just walk away like this!”

“Tell my mom to stop bothering me. I’m at Keri’s dog’s funeral. I don’t have time for your drama!”

Then he hung up—just like that.

No wonder so few people came to the children's funeral.

They were all at a dog’s funeral.

In Daryl’s eyes, his child’s death meant less than Jennie’s pet.

Mrs. Carson was so shaken with rage, she nearly collapsed outside the funeral home.

I forced a numb smile.

“It’s fine if he doesn’t come. I already booked a flight to Beijing today.”

“Auntie, I just have one last request: please let me take my children’s ashes. The memories here are too cruel. I can’t leave them behind.”

With tears, Mrs. Carson agreed.

By noon, I returned home with the urns.

The moment I stepped inside, I saw Daryl and Jennie whispering on the couch.

Pretending not to notice, I picked up the suitcase I’d packed the night before, and quietly left the villa.

Daryl stood up and blocked me. "Where are you going with your packed bags?"

Then, as if something had occurred to him, he narrowed his eyes. "Darla, you're not planning to run off with your son, are you? Running with the ball at your age? Stop reading those trashy novels."

"Let me remind you—tomorrow is Keri's bone marrow transplant. If your son doesn't show up, I’ll make both of you pay!"

I clutched the urn tighter in my arms and said coldly, "Don’t worry. No one will bother you again."

Satisfied with my answer, Daryl glanced at the urn and sneered.

"You went to the funeral home with me and even brought back a souvenir. Doesn’t that feel unlucky? Let me tell you—no matter how much you and the kid grovel, my heart belongs only to Jennie and her daughter."

Then he carried Jennie like a princess, pressed her onto the sofa, and shamelessly indulged himself in broad daylight, ignoring everything around him.

I shut the door to block out the filthy sounds, got in the car with the urn in my arms.

Inside, I broke the SIM card and blocked all contacts.

I touched the urn gently. “Baby, from now on, we’re finally free.”

...

At dawn the next day, Daryl waited at the operating room door.

He kept checking his watch, anxiety growing in his eyes. Then a bodyguard hurried over, speaking with hesitation.

“Mr. Carson, Madam is gone. And the old lady said—the young master died on the table three days ago.”