"Mrs. Fletcher must be a very calculating person. It must be exhausting to get along with someone like that. No wonder Mr. Fletcher has moved on."
"Let’s put that aside—don’t they have a child together? If they divorce, what happens to the child? If Mr. Fletcher and Lila keep progressing like this, they’ll definitely get married. Being a stepmother in a wealthy family isn’t easy."
My heart felt like it had been dropped into a frying pan and tossed again and again. I couldn’t tell if the pain came more from sadness or from rage.
The hospital room was freezing. Cold air surged through the vents and pierced into my bones. I shivered and turned toward the family next to us.
"Please raise the temperature a little. My son has more than just diarrhea. He can’t take the cold."
Time passed, but the chill in the air remained. I raised my head in frustration—only to meet the nurse’s horrified eyes.
"Ms. Carter, families aren’t allowed to stay in the morgue for more than fifteen minutes. You’ve been here half the afternoon. You need to go. The director has been asking for the death certificate to be signed. And where’s the boy’s father? He should at least show up now that his son is gone. Please, contact him."
My mind blanked. I stumbled outside.
The paperwork was done in under two hours.
Shivering in the cold wind outside, I dialed the funeral home with a shaking hand.
Then I called Ethan more than thirty times. Every call went unanswered.
Leaning against the tiled wall, I laughed at myself.
Before the end of the workday, the funeral staff arrived to collect my son. I didn’t know how many times I broke down crying during the process.
At the funeral home, the staff placed my son in the cold chamber, then gently suggested I return home and bring his favorite clothes to dress him.
He should go clean.
My son had been just like Ethan—he hated being dirty.
"After the deceased arrives at the funeral home, cremation is typically scheduled within seventy-two hours. But if the family requests it, we can delay to three, five, or seven days. Would you like to delay it?"
I touched my son’s cold, lifeless face.
"Three days."
***
It was already late when I returned home in a daze.
Ethan’s smile faded the moment he saw me.
"Why are you back so late? Is Charlie feeling better? Lila heard he had diarrhea and was so worried—she even had me bring two boxes of anti-diarrhea medicine."
I stepped away from the box and saw the expiration date.
I smiled coldly, tears spilling again.
"Expired meds? Who exactly is she trying to kill?"
Ethan’s face froze. He turned the box away to hide the date, then frowned.
"Lila must’ve made a mistake. Don’t be so harsh. Pregnant women avoid medicine, you know that. She’s just a college student—she doesn’t pay attention to those things."
"And why didn’t you show up at Lila’s exhibition today? I told you days ago how important it was and you just had to create drama today."
He scolded me, as if defending Lila came naturally now—never mind that my eyes were still red.
"Do you even remember why you started sponsoring Lila in the first place?"
Ethan froze. The words died in his throat.
