My filthy rich husband wanted me to donate skin grafts to his precious darling, his "Dream Girl" as he called her. When I refused point blank, the bastard had our five-year-old son beaten black and blue and then dangled him over a shark tank, threatening, "You don't donate, and I'll throw this little bastard to the sharks!" Fresh blood dripped from my son's little legs into the pool, instantly attracting a frenzy of sharks. They surged and leaped, their razor teeth snapping at my son's tender ankles. My son struggled desperately, his cries tearing through the air, brokenly shouting, "Mommy, help me! It hurts so bad..." His heart-wrenching screams sliced into me like knives. I had no choice but to give in, and I found myself strapped onto the operating table. Then I heard my husband's cold command: "No anesthesia. It'll mess with the graft. Just cut!" The sharp scalpel sliced into my skin inch by agonizing inch. The pain caused me to faint several times, only to be shocked back to consciousness by the searing agony. After a full eight hours of torture, I was so weak I couldn't even lift a finger. But my son was still dangling there. "You promised you'd let him go!" I choked out, struggling to speak. My husband glanced at me, his face contorted in rage. "You damn bitch!" he spat. "If it wasn't for your worthless skin, she wouldn't be screaming in pain!" "This is a lesson for you!" With those words, he didn't hesitate to press the button on the remote control in his hand. The rope snapped, and my son plummeted straight into the shark tank. I threw myself at the edge of the pool with all my remaining strength, but I could only watch helplessly as the sharks tore my son to shreds. Just then, a news alert popped up on my phone: "Billionaire Sean Preston Kneels, Praying on 999 Steps for Beloved Girlfriend." I clenched my fist, the hatred in my heart burning like wildfire. 1 "How could you be so irresponsible! Letting a kid fall into a shark tank!" The rescue team's reprimands stabbed into me like shards of glass. Tears streamed down my face as I repeated over and over, "I'm so sorry..." Maybe they took pity on me, seeing that I had just lost my child. Their expressions were disapproving, but they didn't say anything more. After completing their task, they left one by one, leaving me kneeling alone by the shark tank, staring at my son's mangled, fragmented remains. At that moment, I couldn't even cry anymore. Overwhelming grief enveloped me, crushing me until I could barely breathe. Trembling, I took off my coat and carefully wrapped my son in it. Even when I picked him up, I was as gentle as could be, afraid of hurting him further. But I knew he couldn't feel pain anymore. ... On the way to the funeral home, the radio in the taxi was broadcasting a news story: "Billionaire Sean Preston Kneels on 999 Steps, Only to Pray for His Love..." The driver, as he drove, gushed, "Looks like Mr. Preston is totally head-over-heels for his girl. Not only did he kneel and pray himself, but he shelled out a fortune to put her on all the big screens downtown." "Makes you jealous, huh? Too bad I wasn't born to be loved by a billionaire. Guess I'm stuck driving a cab." I didn't say a word, just held my son closer. On the big screens outside, Sean Preston was kneeling in devotion, climbing up the steps, one by one. "Even their names sound like they belong together," the driver said, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. "Little lady, you look beat to hell. Probably living a rough life. Must be jealous of them, right?" Jealous? I scoffed softly, my heart filled with bitterness and rage. They had joined hands to cause my son's death! I wanted to tear them limb from limb! How could I be jealous? The driver knew I was going to the funeral home and must have sensed my heavy mood. He didn't say anything else for the rest of the ride. Sean Preston's grand gesture had even reached the funeral home. While I was waiting for my son's cremation, I overheard the staff whispering. "I heard they knew each other back in college. One went abroad to study, the other started a business, but they always encouraged each other. That's how they got to where they are today." "From college sweethearts to a wedding! So cute!" I twitched the corner of my mouth, a bitter taste filling my throat. If they knew that Sean Preston, for the sake of his precious Tiffany Bartlett, had used his own son's life as leverage to force his wife to donate skin, and then personally sent that son to his death, leaving behind not even a complete body... Would they still be so envious? "Ms. Evans, here are your son's ashes. Please accept our condolences." I took the urn, thanking the worker softly. The employee hesitated, then finally said, "The injuries on your son's body... they look like he was attacked by some kind of animal, and there were signs of whipping too. Are you in any trouble?" I shook my head, not answering, and turned away. 2 Bang! The moment the car slammed into me, my first instinct was to bend over and hold the urn tight. My ears were filled with a cacophony of sounds. In the chaos, I felt someone trying to snatch the urn from my arms. I fought with all my strength, holding on for dear life. "Ooh, what's so special about this thing?" "Forget it, forget it! Get her to the ambulance!" I don't remember what happened after that. When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital bed, my hands empty. My heart clenched, and I tried to sit up to look for it, but I was too weak to even get up. "Don't move!" A nurse rushed in, pushing me back onto the bed. "The car accident fractured your spine. You need to rest! Otherwise, you might not be able to walk for the rest of your life!" "When the car hit you, you had time to bend over. You should have tried to get out of the way, at least you could have minimized the damage!" "Besides, all that skin they cut off you is getting infected…" The nurse scolded me as she adjusted the IV drip. I wasn't listening to her. I asked urgently, "Where are my son's ashes? I remember holding them…" The nurse paused, then turned and took the urn from the cabinet next to the bed, placing it within my reach. "You bent over to protect it, right? Don't worry, it's safe because you protected it. The urn is undamaged." "Remember, don't move around, just rest." The nurse finished her instructions and left the room. I was too weak to even hold the urn. I could only gently caress its surface with my fingertips. "Good... Mommy protected you this time..." I murmured, tears silently streaming down my face. Bang! The door to the room was kicked open. Before I could even see who it was, a familiar voice slammed into me: "Grace! What the hell were you doing running into the street like that! Do you know Tiffany's been crying for hours because of you!" "She took a knife to her wrists, said she felt so guilty about hitting you that she had to apologize like that." "Grace, can you just give me a break!" Just as I was about to speak, I caught a glimpse of Tiffany Bartlett being pushed into the room in a wheelchair. She reached out and gently tugged on Sean's sleeve, her eyes red-rimmed and her voice choked with sobs: "Sean, honey, don't blame Grace. It's my fault...it's all my fault..." Sean immediately turned around, his anger vanishing as his face softened with concern. He gently wiped away Tiffany's tears, his voice tender: "How could I blame you? It's her fault for jaywalking." "Don't cry, it'll hurt your eyes." I smiled a cold, silent smile. I glanced at Tiffany's wrists. That so-called wound was probably already healing. I was used to these little games. I used to feel hurt by Sean's blind trust in Tiffany and his cruel words towards me. Now, I just felt tired and disgusted. I didn't even want to look at them. I struggled to reach for the nurse call button, but Tiffany suddenly stepped forward and grabbed my hand: "Grace, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I'll pay for all your medical bills. You... ah!" She hadn't finished speaking before she suddenly fell to the ground, large tears rolling down her face. Such acting deserved an award. I looked down at the scratches her nails had left on my arm. I felt only exhaustion, too tired to even argue. Sean quickly helped her up, gently settling her back into the wheelchair. He turned back to me and yanked me right off the bed, sprawling onto the floor. "Tiffany's so worried about you, and you don't even appreciate it! You even dared to hit her!" "Get down on your knees! And apologize to her!" Everything happened so fast. I wasn't prepared. He pulled me down hard, and I landed heavily on the floor, the urn with my son's ashes falling with me. The box cracked open, spilling the ashes. My pupils constricted, my heart clenched as if an invisible hand had squeezed it, and I nearly stopped breathing. I tried to pull away from his grip and reach for my son's ashes. But the searing pain in my fractured spine left me unable to move. I could only watch helplessly as Tiffany Bartlett stepped on my son's ashes. A false smile played on her lips. "Grace, don't worry, I'll help you clean up," she said. She pretended to bend down, but her foot ground into the ashes, scattering them everywhere. "Oops, it's hard to clean up with my hands. I'll get the vacuum cleaner." I tried to grab her, but my fingers only brushed the hem of her white dress. Seeing that she really was getting the vacuum cleaner, I grabbed Sean's wrist, my voice trembling. "Those are my son's ashes!" 3 Tiffany immediately protested, "Grace, even if you resent me, you can't curse your own child!" "Those are clearly plaster dust. I've seen you use it when you're taking care of your plants." "And this box! It's covered in stickers! Who keeps ashes in a box like this? It's disrespectful." My son was still young, and he loved stickers. But Sean thought little boys shouldn't play with such things. He wanted to cultivate his masculine side. On a snowy day, he even made my son stand outside in his underwear to teach him discipline. As a result, my son developed a high fever, which turned into pneumonia and nearly killed him. Sean not only didn't care, he called him a good-for-nothing, saying he couldn't take a little hardship and didn't deserve to be his son! Later, my son barely pulled through. I vowed that I would never let Sean treat him like that again. Whatever he liked, I would buy him. But I never thought that Sean would be so cruel, throwing my son into the shark tank. After my son died, the only thing I could do was put his favorite superhero stickers on his urn. At least in another world, he could have the things he loved. "Sean, those really are my son's ashes..." "He's really dead..." I choked on my words, tears blurring my vision. But Sean raised his hand and slapped me, saying coldly, "I just asked you to donate skin to Tiffany. It's not like I was asking for your life. Do you have to be such a bitch?" "Cursing your son to die!" Tiffany had already vacuumed up all of my son's ashes. She seemed to be talking to herself, but I caught the meaningful look in her eyes as she glanced at me. "The plaster dust clogged the vacuum cleaner. I have to clean it out." She walked towards the bathroom. I realized what she was going to do and struggled to get up, but my body was too weak. I could only put my hope in Sean. "Sean, please, help my son. Those really are his ashes..." My voice trembled, almost begging. But Sean shoved me away. "Enough, Grace! Don't make me throw you and your worthless son into the shark tank to feed the sharks." Just then, I heard the sound of the toilet flushing. My heart clenched violently. Tiffany came out of the bathroom, dusted off her hands, and gave me a smug look. "All done." But Sean suddenly grabbed her hand, his voice rising sharply: "Why are your hands red?" Tiffany glanced at me, then hesitated, "I didn't know plaster dust could burn your skin..." Before she finished speaking, Sean kicked me. His hard leather shoe ground into my fractured spine, twisting brutally. "Grace, you damn bitch!" "Tiffany already apologized to you! Why can't you just let it go!" "I bet you were faking your injuries, coming to the hospital to make her feel guilty, right?!" "Now apologize to Tiffany! Or else--" "I'll make sure you never see your son again!" I already couldn't see him. The intense pain made my vision go black, and I bit my lip, forcing myself to stay conscious. I stared into Sean's eyes, saying each word slowly, deliberately: "Have you forgotten? You were the one who threw our son into the shark tank." I thought I would see panic on Sean's face, but instead, he laughed. "You're not just a loser, you're an idiot." "When our son fell in, the sharks had already been put back in their cages." That's impossible! I clearly saw the sharks biting my son, the water stained red with blood. Before I could object, the door to the room opened and a group of police officers walked in. They flashed their badges and said coldly to me, "Ms. Evans, we received a report from the funeral home. We suspect you of child abuse resulting in death. Please come with us to assist in the investigation." 4 Sean's reaction was even more intense than mine. He grabbed my collar, shouting, "Grace, enough! You were just pretending to use plaster dust as ashes, and now you're working with these guys to trick me!" I almost laughed. I had already failed my son too many times, and now I was disabled. The only thing I could do was bring the killer of my son to justice. I turned to the officers, saying calmly, "Sean Preston threw my son into the shark tank, causing his death. Please investigate this thoroughly." "Grace!" Sean's hands tightened around my neck, as if he wanted to kill me. "You're hopeless!" I looked to the police for help, and they quickly pulled Sean away. Finally able to breathe, I looked at Sean. "There are security cameras at the shark tank. Pull up the footage and you'll see the truth." Sean scoffed. "Fine, if you want to keep causing trouble, I'll show you the truth!" Tiffany’s eyes darted back and forth, and she suddenly said “Ouch!", trying to look hurt and take Sean away. Sean put her in her wheelchair, and called a doctor to help her with her “injuries”. Even when he was arguing with me, he was still caring and gentle. “I’ll be back to take you home soon. I’ll make chicken soup for you.” He had someone bring the security footage and play it on the TV in the room. After a few moments, his face went white and he stammered, “This is impossible!”
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