Late one night, my mother-in-law was walking home after a round of square dancing when a drunk driver dragged her for nearly a kilometer.
By the time I got the call, she was already lying in the morgue—her face so mangled she was unrecognizable.
When the police showed me the surveillance footage, I clenched my teeth in hatred, vowing to seek justice for her.
But the very next day, my wife asked me to meet her at a restaurant. She tossed a document across the table. Her expression was cold and sharp.
"Julian, the dead can't come back. Your mother is gone, but Dylan is only twenty-one. He has a whole life ahead of him. You can't be so cruel as to make him waste his youth paying for a dead woman."
"Sign the agreement. Take fifty thousand as compensation for your mom, and let this matter end here."
"If you refuse, then you'll get nothing at all."
Looking at her cold expression, I didn't sign.
And true to her word, Abigail made sure I didn't get a single cent.
Instead, I later saw her kneeling on the courthouse steps, smashing her forehead against the stone until it bled—begging the court to reopen the case.
——
Stunned, I stared at her. "What... what did you just say?"
"Fifty thousand? You want a private settlement?"
Was she serious? The one lying in the morgue was her own mother!
Her parents had divorced when she was still little. Her father sold the house, took all the money, and ran away. It was her mother who raised her alone. For her daughter's sake, she never remarried, never once put her child second.
And yet now...
"What's wrong? Too little money?" Abigail asked flatly.
I opened my mouth, my voice trembling.
"This isn't about money, Abigail. Don't you understand? The victim... the one who died... was our mother!"
I had spoken cautiously, afraid she couldn't bear the truth.
But she only checked her watch, frowning with impatience. "I know. You don't need to repeat it. Since it's not about the amount, then hurry up and sign. Don't waste my time—I still have things to do."
My hands shook as I flipped through the agreement, not sure where to begin.
Then one line hit me like a blow, and my pupils shrank.
The document claimed my mother-in-law had bent down to tie her shoelaces on purpose—framing it as an attempted scam. It even went on to say that because Dylan was feeling unwell, he failed to notice the road and accidentally hit her.
It was a blatant reversal of right and wrong.
Clutching the flimsy paper, I asked hoarsely, "Abigail... did you even watch the surveillance footage at the police station?"
She leaned back in her chair, sipping her drink carelessly, though her voice rose with irritation.
"Watch what? You want me to watch your mom scam someone? An old woman like her trying to extort a young boy? Julian, if you're not ashamed, I am!"
"She wasn't scamming anyone!" I slammed the document back at her. "She raised you for thirty years. You know better than anyone what kind of person she was. Don't you dare insult her like this!"
People at nearby tables began glancing over, curious about the argument.
Maybe her coldness had numbed me, because even my grief seemed to fade under her words.
"Raised me?" she sneered. "She was your mom, Julian. Are you confused?"
I thought I had been clear, but it was like she didn't hear a word I said. She snapped at me again, then suddenly softened her tone, as if remembering something.
"Julian, I know it's hard to accept your mother's death right now. That's understandable. But think rationally. She was old, contributed nothing to the family, and needed us to support her. She's been a burden for years. If she were still alive, do you really think she could earn even five thousand, let alone fifty?"
