The call ended abruptly.

My knuckles turned white from gripping the phone. I looked up at the isolation ward.

Henry’s tiny body was almost entirely hidden beneath a tangle of tubes and wires. His face, under the oxygen mask, was so pale it was nearly translucent.

Sensing my gaze, he lifted his little hand with great effort and formed a heart shape with his fingers.

His lips moved slightly, and the oxygen mask trembled softly with each breath.

I knew what he was asking. My chest clenched as if an invisible hand had grabbed my heart and was crushing it.

"Mommy’s on her way," I forced a smile, my voice trembling. "You have to be strong, wait for her, okay?"

Beep—Beep—Beep—Beep!

A sharp alarm pierced the air.

Henry's face suddenly turned a frightening shade of purple, and his frail body convulsed violently on the bed.

Doctors and nurses surged into the room like a wave. Through the chaos, I saw Henry’s small hand fall limp.

"Time of death: 3:47 PM..." The attending doctor removed his stethoscope and pulled the white sheet over Henry’s face.

At that instant, the entire world fell silent.

My mother-in-law’s wails, the buzzing of machines, the voices of medical staff—all of it faded into an unbearable, deathly silence.

It felt like a dull knife had carved out a piece of my heart, but the pain was so deep, I couldn’t even cry out.

I didn't know how long I sat there before I finally came back to my senses.

Numbly, I opened Instagram to message Rina—but her latest post popped up first.

[The wind of freedom, the dream of cycling. Today’s 510 kilometers with Johann—what a beautiful memory. Life isn’t just about the struggles in front of us, but poetry and the distant horizon.]

Attached was a selfie of her on a mountaintop, with Johann flashing a peace sign in the background.

Scrolling down, there were more photos—her tending to Johann’s wounds by a stream. The two of them shared a bottle of water. A silhouette of them watching the sunrise, fingers interlocked.

The latest comment was from Johann.

[Next time, let’s challenge 1,314 kilometers?]

Rina had replied with a shy emoji and three kissy faces.

My hand trembled as I opened the chat box. I typed, deleted, typed again—then finally sent just three words.

[Henry is gone.]

One minute.

Five minutes.

Ten minutes.

Finally, the screen lit up with a reply.

[Don’t use something like this to mess with me. I don’t want anything ruining my vacation with Johann.]

Seeing her message, I vomited a mouthful of blood. My mother-in-law screamed in horror.

As darkness closed in, I clenched my teeth and forced out my last words before collapsing:

“Mom, I’m divorcing Rina.”

—

When I woke again, three days had passed.

As soon as I opened my eyes, I stumbled toward pediatrics.

"Henry, Daddy's here!"

My mother-in-law quickly stopped me.

"William... I’ve already arranged for Henry’s body to be kept in the morgue. I’ll take you there in a bit."

Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she looked at me with deep guilt.

"William, it’s our fault for raising Rina this way. If you want a divorce, I understand."

My gaze fell on her hair—once black, now streaked with white. A sharp pang struck my heart.

Twenty years ago, after my parents died in the line of duty, it was her who took me in and raised me as her own.

I still remember the early days at Sterling household, when nightmares kept me awake at night—she would cradle me gently, whispering comfort until I fell asleep.

The day I got into Stanford University, she smiled with more pride than anyone else.

Over the years, I treated her and her husband like my own parents. That was why I had tolerated Rina’s selfishness over again.

When she had a bad day at work, she’d take it out on me—and I silently endured it.

When she missed Henry’s birthday because she went shopping, I swallowed my resentment and said nothing.

Even when things between Rina and Johann became suspiciously intimate, I still chose to trust her—hoping she would eventually come back to her senses.

But this time, she crossed a line I can never forgive—she chose a cycling trip with Johann over our own son’s life.

“Mom,” I said quietly, gripping her trembling hand.

“This time, I really, truly can’t forgive her anymore.”

It took me four days to finalize my resignation. After that, I packed up everything into a single suitcase.

Holding Henry’s urn in my arms, I took one last look around the villa. Just as I was about to leave, the front door swung open.

Rina walked in with her arm looped around Johann’s. She glanced at the suitcase by my feet and frowned.

“Going on a business trip? Who’s going to take care of Henry then?”

She said it so casually, with not a shred of concern in her eyes. She didn’t even notice the white mourning banner hanging above the door.

“Oh right, Johann got injured saving me. Cancel your trip and stay to take care of him.”

When I didn’t respond, she added matter-of-factly, “Let him have the master bedroom. You can sleep in the study.”

I shot her a cold look, grabbed my suitcase, and walked toward the door.

Seeing this, Johann immediately put on his usual act. “Mr. Jensen, if it bothers you that much, I’ll leave...”

“Don’t mind him,” Rina cut him off, yanking him back by the arm and giving me a contemptuous glance.

“Give it three hours. He’ll come crawling back to apologize—and beg me like a dog to donate bone marrow for our son.”

Her words sliced through me like knives, ripping open wounds that had barely begun to heal.

I clutched Henry’s urn tighter and kept walking.

“William, stop right there!” Rina suddenly shouted.

“Leave behind your parents’ medals of honor. Johann’s younger brother needs them for something.”

I turned slowly, my eyes like ice. “No. Those are honors my parents earned with their lives.”

Rina scoffed, completely unfazed. “Then name your price.”

Twenty years of companionship. Seven years of marriage. And in the end, she couldn’t spare me even a sliver of respect.

“You’re unbelievable!” I instinctively shielded the backpack behind me. “Asking for them is an insult to my parents!”

Johann suddenly stepped forward and reached out to snatch my backpack.

I quickly dodged and shouted, “What do you think you’re doing?”

But he didn’t back down. He just gave me that same fake smile. “Mr. Jensen, don’t make things difficult. It’s just a small favor.”

Fury exploded in my chest. I shoved him hard—he staggered and fell, clutching his knee and howling in pain.

“Ow! My knee! That hurts!”

“Johann, are you okay?!” Rina rushed to his side, flustered and worried.

She started shouting for help and calling for a doctor, making such a scene that it drew my mother-in-law from her IV drip.

With a deep frown, she scolded, “Rina! What are you yelling about now?”

Taking advantage of the chaos, I turned and tried to leave with Henry’s urn.

But Rina wasn’t done—like a madwoman, she chased after me and yanked open my backpack, digging frantically through it.

She quickly found the medals.

I immediately set down the urn and lunged to grab them back.

For the first time ever, I defied her. She stared at me, her expression a mix of shock and rage, as if she couldn’t believe I would actually resist.

“Didn’t you say you'd give me anything I wanted? Now you’re taking it back?” she demanded.

I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. After all this, she still had the audacity to ask me for more.

“These belong to my parents. No one has the right to take them!”

Rina choked on her words, stunned into silence.

Suddenly, a vicious gleam flashed in Rina’s eyes.

She snatched up the urn that had been set aside and raised it high above her head, her expression twisted with malice.

“If you won’t give me the medals, I’ll throw this away!”

“That’s Henry’s ashes!”

Both my mother-in-law and I shouted at once.

For a moment, Rina froze—then burst out laughing.

“What a performance! You should be on stage.”

As she spoke, she turned and bolted toward the courtyard, clutching the urn. Without hesitation, she yanked open the cover of a maintenance shaft.

My heart stopped—beneath that cover was the septic tank.

“No! Please, don’t!” I shouted, desperation cracking my voice. “I’ll give you the medals! Just don’t throw it!”

She sneered. “Too late!”

With a flick of her wrist, she let go. “This is what you get for defying me!”

I watched helplessly as the urn plummeted into the black void below, followed by a dull, sickening thud.

My vision darkened. I felt something rise in my throat, and before I knew it, I was coughing up blood.

Rina froze, stunned. For once, she didn’t seem to know what to do.

My mother-in-law rushed forward and slapped her across the face with all her strength.

“That’s Henry’s ashes, you wretched girl!” she screamed.

Rina clutched her cheek in disbelief, staring at her mother. “Mom, you’re taking William’s side now? Stop being ridiculous—Henry’s still at the hospital!”

But her mother shoved her away, tears streaming down her face as she collapsed beside the open shaft.

“Henry... my precious Henry...”

Only then did a flicker of clarity return to Rina’s eyes.

Confusion gave way to terror. She staggered toward the garage, screaming through sobs,

“No—no, that’s impossible! I’ll go to the hospital right now! He’s still waiting for my donation!”

I forced myself to my feet, swaying, staring down into that black, stinking hole.

My mother-in-law seemed to understand what I intended. She grabbed my arm tightly.

“William, don’t! Don’t do anything foolish!”

“I have to get him back,” I said, shaking her off.

Without wasting another second, then I jumped.

The stench of methane hit me like a wall, searing into my lungs like needles.

I gagged, fighting the urge to pass out, and groped blindly in the darkness.

The sewage had already risen past my knees.

Floating amid the thick, disgusting sludge were shattered pieces of the urn. My heart plummeted.

Then, on a concrete ledge nearby, I saw it—a small, intact pile of ash. Henry’s ashes.

Thank God.

The urn must have broken on impact, but somehow the ashes had landed in a relatively clean spot.

“Henry...”

My voice trembled as I took off my jacket and gently wrapped the ashes with the care of a man holding the last piece of his soul.

The fumes made my head spin. Gritting my teeth, I held my breath and used the last of my strength to crawl out of the shaft.

The moment I surfaced, I collapsed into a coughing fit, choking on blood-tinged saliva.

“Call an ambulance! Hurry!” my mother-in-law’s voice echoed, fading in and out.

As I was laid onto the stretcher, I refused to let go of the bundle cradled against my chest—the foul-smelling jacket holding Henry’s ashes.

Somewhere between consciousness and oblivion, I heard the medic’s urgent voice, “Severe methane poisoning! We need to start resuscitation now!”

I clutched my mother-in-law’s hand, gasping.

“Mom...”

Each word stabbed like a knife.

“I-if I don’t make it... bury me with Henry and my parents...”

She broke down completely, nodding through her tears.

“Okay! I promise, William, I promise! But you have to hold on, you must!”

My vision faded to black.

All I could feel was the filthy, soaked jacket pressed tightly to my chest—still warm with the remnants of my son.

Meanwhile, Rina stumbled into the pediatric ward.

“Henry! Where’s Henry?!” she cried, grabbing the head nurse in a panic.

“My son—where is he? He’s waiting for my bone marrow! Where are you hiding him?!”

The nurse frowned, wincing in pain, but said nothing.

Only now did Rina realize something was off—the entire nursing staff at the station had stopped what they were doing.

They were all staring at her with complicated, guarded expressions.

“Ms. Sterling,” the head nurse said quietly, pulling her arm away.

“Your son passed away seven days ago.”