I went to pick up my three-year-old son from kindergarten, never expecting to walk straight into a nightmare.

A madman, driven by rage against the world, swung a knife wildly, cutting through the crowd without mercy.

To shield my son, I took the blows meant for him, more than ten, each one searing through me like fire. I collapsed in a pool of my own blood.

Tiffany Timmerman had the attacker dragged to the police station and summoned the best medical team to save us.

Before they wheeled me into surgery, I clutched onto the last thread of my fading consciousness and asked about my son.

Her eyes were red-rimmed, yet her voice was eerily steady.

"He lost too much blood. He… he didn’t make it. He died on the way here."

The words hit like a knife straight to my heart. Grief swallowed me whole and before I could even mention that anesthesia didn’t work on me, darkness pulled me under.

When I woke, the haze of pain barely registered over the voices I overheard.

"President, the child could have been saved. Why did you give up on resuscitation? That was your own son. He was only three years old!"

"I never intended for him to live. His birth was a mistake. And he had the audacity to ask me for a birthday gift? Did he think he could inherit the company?"

"My son with Peter Garrett is turning eighteen soon. I promised him the company as his coming-of-age gift. I won’t let anyone else compete for it."

The marriage I once thought was blissful had been nothing but a carefully constructed illusion, a living hell dressed in gold.

If that was what they wanted, then so be it.

——

The doctor let out a weary sigh as he glanced at my battered body, the wounds so deep they barely resembled flesh anymore.

"I examined him. His injuries are severe, but… his vas deferens are still intact. He might still have a chance to be a father in the future."

A cold, clipped voice shattered the moment.

"Who gave you permission to leave them intact? Cut them off completely. I want him to lose the ability to reproduce forever."

The doctor’s breath hitched. His eyes widened in disbelief.

"President, in three days, you’ll be handing the company over to Peter’s son. Even if he has children in the future, it won’t change anything. He just lost his child and now you want to take this away, too? Do you really need to be this ruthless?"

Tiffany trailed her fingers down my face, her touch gentle, almost tender. But her words dripped with nothing but venom.

"Giving birth to that bastard was already my greatest mistake. I never expected him to have the audacity to ask me for a birthday gift. That could only mean one thing: he was eyeing the company’s inheritance."

"I swore to Peter that I would never let anyone compete with our child for the family wealth. Even though he married another woman back then, I will still help him and his son eliminate any future threats."

A sharp knock on the operating room door shattered the silence, followed by a man's voice, careless, almost mocking.

"President, appreciate you forging my psychiatric evaluation and getting me off the hook. I’ve already taken care of that little brat for you. Now, about my payment..."

"I’ll have five million wired to your account. Take the money and get out of Savannah. Never show yourself in front of Joseph Peterson again."

"Fine by me. Now, let’s wrap this surgery up. I still have to accompany Peter to pick up Gabriel’s custom-made gift. Oh, and make sure to use extra anesthesia. I don’t want Joseph feeling a thing."

Their footsteps receded into the distance. I clenched my eyes shut, grinding my teeth until pain shot through my skull, refusing to let a single tear fall.

So that man hadn’t been a madman at all.

He was a butcher, one my wife had personally hired to put her beloved man’s mind at ease.

My son was only three years old. He was murdered on his birthday, under a fabricated accusation, by the very woman who had given birth to him.

My body rejected anesthesia. The cold instruments dug into me, slicing, twisting, tearing. Every motion was torture, an agony I could neither escape nor endure.

The pain was unbearable. Darkness swallowed me whole.

When I opened my eyes again, Tiffany sat beside me, her eyes red-rimmed, her voice trembling with feigned concern.

"Joseph, you’re finally awake. Does it still hurt?"

"I was outside the entire time… You have no idea how terrified I was. Losing Levi is already the greatest pain of my life. If something had happened to you too, I wouldn’t want to live either."

"Joseph, the doctor said your injuries were too severe… They damaged your vas deferens. You won’t be able to have children anymore. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life. Being child-free isn’t so bad, is it?"

I lowered my head, my gaze landing on the stitched wound. The pain was a cruel reminder I had lost the chance to be a father forever.

"Where’s Levi?" My voice came out hollow, stripped of warmth.

Tiffany’s expression flickered with guilt.

"He’s already been sent to the funeral home for cremation. The funeral is tomorrow. Joseph, I’m sorry… As his mother, I failed to protect our child."

A sharp ache tore through my chest, but I didn’t expose her lie.

My eyes drifted to the bedside table. Inside a delicate box lay a longevity lock.

"Tiffany, today is Levi’s birthday. We haven’t gotten him a gift yet. Let this longevity lock stay with him. I hope… he can live a long life in his next one, okay?"

Her fingers twitched and for a split second, her brow creased, but she quickly smoothed it over with a gentle voice.

"Joseph, this was bought on behalf of a friend for their child. We can’t take something that belongs to someone else."

"This is meant for the living. Levi would be sad if we gave it to him. Besides, the material isn’t worth much. It’s not good enough for him. I’ve already arranged for burial goods. We’ll burn everything for him so he won’t suffer in the afterlife."

I said nothing, only swallowed the grief clawing at my throat.

After years as a stay-at-home husband, Tiffany had forgotten, once, I had been a jewelry expert with a sharp eye for detail.

That longevity lock wasn’t just any trinket. The diamond was the finest, worth a fortune. Every curve of its exquisite design carried intent, the words Peace and Safety Every Year engraved with the boundless love only devoted parents could give.

For two months, I had watched Tiffany bury herself in the study, meticulously designing it. I had thought, no, I had believed it was meant for Levi’s birthday.

But in her heart, the ones truly unworthy weren’t just me. It was my son as well.

At my insistence, Tiffany arranged for my discharge and brought me home.

She refused the housekeepers’ help, choosing instead to care for me herself. With tender hands, she bathed me, careful to avoid my wounds. Even my hair, she dried it herself, her touch as gentle as ever, like the devoted wife she had always pretended to be.

Once, I would have been moved by her tenderness. But as I stared at the scars marring my skin, as Levi’s death loomed over me like a specter, all I felt was a cold, hollow numbness.

That night, while Tiffany slept soundly beside me, I slipped into the study. I turned on the computer, my fingers steady as I logged into her cloud drive.

The password? Peter’s birthday.

Inside, tens of thousands of photos and videos filled the screen, each one a silent confession. They documented everything, from her pregnancy to the birth and every fleeting moment of their child's growth.

But that wasn’t all. Among the files sat a prepared equity transfer agreement.

Fifteen years of marriage, fifteen years of lies. Tiffany had spent most of them traveling, always claiming she was expanding the market, always assuring me it was for our future.

In truth, she had been with Peter and their son.

And the most laughable part? I had never even suspected a thing.

In the lower right corner of the screen, her WhatsApp remained logged in. My gaze fell on the pinned chat at the top.

Loving Family of Three.

The name alone was a blade stabbing straight through my heart.

For eighteen years, Tiffany had showered Peter and their son with extravagant gifts, sparing no expense.

[Tiffany, Gabriel is still a newborn. How can he drive a Maserati? You spoil him too much. By the way, I love the sapphire watch you sent me!]

[Tiffany, Gabriel turns three today. The island you gifted him is breathtaking. You’ll be here this afternoon, right? Gabriel can’t wait to see his mom!]

All that love. All those lavish gifts.

Levi and I had never received anything.

At twenty-two, I had abandoned a promising career to marry Tiffany, choosing to stand behind her, to weather every storm by her side.

Years of overwork had drained my health. And for years, there had been no children. She had never seemed to mind.

I had thought it was her way of being considerate.

I had even been grateful for her understanding.

In the fifteenth year of our marriage, Tiffany was finally pregnant. But the joy I had expected never came; she merely offered a hollow smile as if the news barely touched her.

And then, I saw it.

A photo of Peter pressing a kiss to her swollen belly, his face glowing with joy. Tiffany’s expression, one of pure, unfiltered happiness, said everything I needed to know. She had long since given birth to someone else’s child.

And my Levi? In her eyes, he had been nothing more than an unfortunate inconvenience, something she had been desperate to cut away.

No wonder that every year on Levi’s birthday, she always had some excuse, urgent business trips or overseas meetings.

Because Levi’s birthday was only three days apart from their child’s, she had to leave early, making sure everything was perfect for them, terrified that her precious family would feel neglected.

I shut the webpage, my heart numb, my mind made up.

I called my childhood friend overseas.

“I’ll take the job as a jewelry appraiser at your company. I’ll see you in three days.”

And before hanging up, I asked him for a favor.

After finishing everything, I stepped into Levi’s room. The layout remained untouched, frozen in time. His pillow still carried that faint, milky scent unique to children. But Levi… Levi would never return.

Under his pillow, I found a small wishing bottle. Inside was a folded slip of paper, his birthday wish, written with the help of his teacher.

"The teacher said a man must be brave, so this year, I finally mustered the courage to tell Mommy I wanted a birthday present. But before I could even finish, Mommy got angry and walked away."

"Actually, all I wanted was for Mommy to spend an hour with me on my birthday. Even just thirty minutes would make me so, so happy."

A sharp ache tore through my chest. Tears blurred my vision, falling uncontrollably.

‘Tiffany, is this what you call ambition?!’

That night, I printed out the divorce papers. Then, clutching Levi’s blanket, I buried my face in it, inhaling the last traces of his scent, his warmth and cried until dawn.

The next day, despite her usual obsession with cleanliness, Tiffany did something unthinkable. She sat beside me, silently tending to my wounds, carefully changing the bandages, her touch uncharacteristically gentle as she wrapped them in fresh gauze.

The housekeeper stood beside us, her eyes brimming with envy, but my heart had long turned to ash.

She took one look at my swollen, bloodshot eyes and sighed, sorrow weighing heavy in her gaze.

"Joseph, I know you miss Levi. I miss him even more, but you need to take care of yourself. I’ve already lost the child I love most. I can’t lose you too. Why don’t you rest at home today? Let me handle Levi’s funeral."

Let you? Let you, the murderer who killed your own son, take care of it?

I swallowed the bitter mockery pressing against my tongue and replied coolly, "No need. I have to send Levi off myself."

At the funeral, from a distance, I spotted Peter and a teenage boy standing beside my mother-in-law. They flanked her on either side, their voices light, their smiles easy. She laughed, her joy untouched by grief, as if she were at a casual gathering, not at my son’s funeral.

On such a solemn occasion, where mourning cloaked everyone in black, Peter and that boy arrived in striking red suits, standing out like a mockery of grief.

And yet, my mother-in-law didn’t bat an eye. She clung to them, her gaze brimming with affection as if they were the only family she recognized.

Worried they might be too warm, she even had the servants hold umbrellas over them, treating them like treasured kin as if they were her true son-in-law and grandson.

Peter’s gaze flicked to me, his lips curving into a smirk. With a voice dripping with mockery, he turned to her.

“Auntie, I’m not hot. Joseph is here now and the sun is scorching. Why not give him the umbrella instead? Unlike me, he lost his child and got himself injured. He needs all the care he can get.”

At his words, my mother-in-law twisted toward me, her face curling in open disgust.

"It’s just a useless brat who died; what’s the big deal? And what’s with that pitiful look? Who are you performing for? Stop disgracing the family with this pathetic act."

She huffed, her gaze flicking back to Peter and the boy with unmistakable fondness.

"Even Peter and Gabriel are more considerate than you. They flew in straight from abroad, worrying I’d be too tired. They even brought me an expensive diamond bracelet. They're a thousand times better than you, a worthless bastard."

She had always looked down on me, convinced I wasn’t good enough for Tiffany. And when a decade passed without a child, she never let me forget it, mocking me, calling me useless.