Ethan Fletcher, who was worth hundreds of millions of dollars, gave ten million to the female college student he had been sponsoring for two years to fund her art graduation exhibit—but refused to spend even twenty thousand on our son’s medical treatment.
After my son died of severe diarrhea and dehydration in front of me, I was devastated. I handed Ethan a divorce agreement.
When he saw the death certificate attached, he actually smiled.
"I'm sorry, I didn’t think diarrhea could kill someone."
"I know you’re sad, but it’s okay. Lila’s giving birth in three days."
"She’s understanding and grateful. We’ve already agreed—the baby will be raised by you. You can stay Mrs. Fletcher, but on one condition: Lila must be allowed to visit often."
"No need," I smiled faintly. "I just want a divorce."
——
When Ethan refused to help financially, I sold the custom engagement ring he once spent a fortune on—for next to nothing.
I rushed back to the hospital with the money. Down the long hallway, I heard the sharp, rhythmic beeping of a machine. Then a few seconds later, silence fell—as if the world had been muted.
"I’m sorry, Ms. Carter. I’m sorry for your loss..."
"In your son’s case, if the medical fees had been paid a few days earlier, he might’ve been saved."
"Hospital policy is strict. Without payment from the patient or their guardian, we’re not permitted to administer treatment. We did everything we could. I’m truly sorry for your loss..."
I tried to speak, but it felt like a razor blade wrapped in cotton was lodged in my throat—burning and sharp. No words came.
Dragging my numb legs toward the bed, I couldn’t bear to face my son’s lifeless body.
That morning, he had smiled at me from that very bed. He’d called me “Mom.”
The hospital TV, mounted to the sterile white wall, flickered briefly, then resumed its signal.
Ethan’s face appeared on the screen.
He smiled warmly—a man the public believed was always cold and distant—standing behind the sponsored student, greeting guests at her gallery opening.
Some onlookers whispered, not even avoiding the livestreaming bloggers:
"With my years of experience, I’d say Mr. Fletcher and our young art prodigy are more than just sponsor and artist."
"Come on, come on—spill it. Are you two a thing?"
Blushing, Lila looked away, casting affectionate and shy glances at Ethan.
He didn’t deny anything. The smile tugging at his lips said more than enough.
"But isn’t Mr. Fletcher married? He has a five-year-old son. Could it be that he and his wife are divorced and just haven’t announced it yet?"
Awkward silence fell over the room. The one who asked the question melted into the crowd.
In front of the cameras, Lila’s eyes shimmered as she looked up at Ethan.
"Master, why didn’t Madam come to the exhibition? Is she still upset about the last auction?"
"Should I visit her and apologize again?"
Ethan answered without hesitation.
"No need."
"She’s gotten too sensitive. A set of jewelry is just that—jewelry. If she’s going to throw a fit over that and fight with you, she doesn’t deserve another cent. I won’t let you suffer another insult for her."
"It frustrates me to see her take it out on you."
His protective tone only confirmed for the public that our marriage had quietly ended—and made it seem like I was the one to blame for ruining it.
