On our sextuplets’ birthday, I invited my husband to join the kids on a camping trip to the countryside. Unexpectedly, I disrupted his plans to accompany his first love, Celine Pane, to a prenatal check-up.
He flew into a rage and sent the children to a deserted island as punishment. When I found out, I knelt in the freezing wind and snow at the villa gates, begging, “They’re only six years old! Please, I’m begging you, spare our children! That island is desolate, full of wild beasts and venomous snakes. It’s so dangerous. They’ll die out there! I promise to discipline them properly from now on and not let them bother you again!"
Who would have thought that Frank would be playing dress-up games with Celine on our daughter's bed. His tone was icy:
"Get lost! They’ve been taking wilderness survival courses since they were young. If they can’t even endure this kind of punishment, they’re not worthy of being my children! And you, useless thing! You can’t even manage the kids. You deserve to be punished too!"
I was thrown into the basement. A week later, I was summoned to the morgue to identify six bodies that had already been gnawed beyond recognition.
That night, Frank rented out all the drones and cruise ships in the city to throw a wild party, just to celebrate that he and Celine were expecting a new life.
"Where are those six little brats? Why haven’t they come to apologize to Celine yet? Since they’re so ill-mannered, it seems only right that the child in Celine’s belly becomes the future head of the Watson Family!"
I pulled out a bitter, chilling smile. "The children… are already dead."
Looking at their tragic, mangled bodies, I felt as if the sky had collapsed.
The mortuary echoed with my anguished cries.
"My children!"
The heart-wrenching pain of losing my child felt like a knife twisting in my heart.
A rush of blood surged to my head like a flood and everything went black. I fainted.
When I came to, the TV in the hospital room was broadcasting news about Frank.
The nurse beside me wore a look of envy. "Mr. Watson bought out the entire city's spending tonight to celebrate his lover's pregnancy! Miss, your medical bills were covered by Mr. Watson! You're really lucky!"
Bitter tears streamed down my face as I forced a smile uglier than crying.
Lucky?
In one night, I had lost six children and now I had to watch the person who killed them dance and celebrate in joy.
And worst of all, everyone was lining up to offer them their blessings.
How laughable!
My hatred clenched my jaw so tight that it felt like my molars would shatter. I pulled out my phone and dialed Frank’s number.
It took ten calls before the man finally picked up, clearly annoyed.
"What are you making a fuss about this time? Didn’t I already tell you to take the kids back? What now? Do you want to go reflect on a deserted island again?"
The moment I thought about the inhuman torment the six children suffered on that deserted island, my heart ached unbearably. I couldn’t hold back and screamed at him:
"Frank! The children are dead!"
He let out a mocking laugh. "Why not say you died in the basement too, while you're at it? My assistant already checked. Those six little brats are doing just fine! To even fabricate something as outrageous as your children dying, you don’t deserve to be their mother! I don't have time to argue with you. You'd better not test my limits!"
With that, he hung up decisively.
His words happened to reach his mother, Kamari, who had rushed over in a hurry. Enraged, she slammed a teacup against the table, shattering it into pieces.
"Beast! Those were six children's lives! How could he do something so utterly heartless! Jane, I’ll get justice for you right now!"
I shook my head in utter despair and with a heavy thud, knelt before her. "Mom, I’m begging you, please let me go! I’ve spent eight years repaying the debt of gratitude for saving my life. Just let me take the children and leave!"
Kamari was overwhelmed with guilt. She choked on her sobs for a long time before finally agreeing to my plea.
At the crematorium…
As I watched the remains of my six children being pushed into the incinerator, I couldn’t stop the flood of memories of how they looked when they were alive.
They were such pure, kind and lovable children. Everyone praised them for being smart, well-mannered and endearing.
They were my treasures, precious beyond words. I held them in the palms of my hands, afraid they might fall; kept them close to my lips, afraid they'd melt. And yet in the end, they were tortured to death by the very father they respected the most.
The funeral lasted for three days and nights.
After the guests who came to pay their respects had left, I continued to kneel in the mourning hall for another seven days and nights.
During all that time, Frank never came, not even once.
Until the eighth night.
He stormed into the mourning hall, seething with rage and flanked by bodyguards. Without a word, he began smashing everything in sight, destroying the entire hall.
He suddenly kicked me hard in the chest, then followed with several vicious slaps that left me coughing up blood.
"You filthy wretch! What the hell are you trying to pull? You knew Celine was pregnant, so why stage this whole farce just to disgust her?"
