I lowered my gaze to my abdomen, where the wound had been neatly stitched up. Yet, the emptiness inside me was a cruel reminder—I had been forever stripped of my ability to be a mother.
"Where's Liam?" I asked dully.
Willy's expression darkened with guilt. "He's been sent to the funeral home for cremation. The funeral is tomorrow. Carol, I'm sorry... As a father, I failed to protect our child."
A sharp pain stabbed through my heart, but I didn’t expose his lies.
My eyes drifted to the bedside table, where a delicate box lay. Inside it was a long-life lock.
"Willy, today is Liam's birthday. We haven't bought him a present yet. Let this long-life lock accompany him. I hope he finds longevity and peace in the afterlife, okay?"
Willy’s brows twitched slightly, but he quickly masked his unease with a gentle smile. "Carol, a friend asked me to buy this for his child. How can we take it away from him?"
"It's meant for the living and Liam... he can’t wear it anymore. Besides, this material isn’t worth much. It doesn’t suit our Liam. I’ve already arranged for something more appropriate from the funeral store. Everything will be burned for him—he won’t feel shortchanged in the afterlife."
I didn’t argue, but my heart sank further. Willy had long forgotten that before becoming a housewife, I was a skilled jewelry appraiser. The long-life lock was made of the highest quality jadeite—worth a fortune. Its intricate design was engraved with the words "peace year after year," a symbol of a parent's deepest love.
For two months, I had secretly watched Willy spending countless late nights in his study, meticulously designing this very pattern. I had foolishly believed it was meant for Liam's birthday gift. But in his heart, the ones truly unworthy were my son and me.
Under my insistence, Willy processed my discharge papers and took me home. He refused the nanny’s assistance, personally helping me bathe and wash my hair, carefully avoiding my wound. He even blow-dried my hair with gentle attention—a picture-perfect husband.
Once, I would have been moved by such tenderness. But as I stared at the grotesque scars on my stomach and thought of my son's cruel death, I felt only emptiness. My heart was a barren wasteland.
***
That night, while Willy slept, I crept into his study. Using my laptop, I accessed his cloud drive. The password was Sophia’s birthday.
Inside were tens of thousands of photos and videos, capturing every moment of Sophia’s pregnancy, the birth of their child and his growth over the years. And there, amidst the sea of memories, lay a prepared share transfer agreement.
Fifteen years of marriage—Willy had spent most of it traveling, supposedly for business expansion. But in reality, he had been by Sophia and their child's side all along. I had never once doubted him. How ridiculous.
A notification flickered in the corner of the screen—his WhatsApp was still logged in. A single click opened a chat group pinned at the top: "A Loving Family of Three."
The words burned into my vision. For eighteen years, Willy had showered Sophia and their child with countless lavish gifts.
"Willy, Benny is just a newborn. How can he drive a Maserati? You're spoiling him too much! Ohz and by the way, I adore the sapphire necklace you got me. Mwah!"
"Willy, Benny is three years old today. The island you bought for him is breathtaking! You'll be arriving this afternoon, right? He can't wait to see his daddy."
All that love. All that devotion. Things Little Liam and I never had.
I had once been a rising star in the jewelry industry, but I gave up everything at twenty to marry Willy. I devoted myself to him, endured hardships by his side, sacrificed my body and struggled for years before finally conceiving—only to have him treat it as nothing more than an inconvenience.
I used to think his indifference was meant to ease my burden. I had even been grateful for his so-called understanding. But in the fifteenth year of our marriage, when I finally became pregnant, he had not been overjoyed. He had only forced a smile—a mere formality. And now, everything made sense.
