Those vague red marks, like a heavy axe, split us completely in two.
Panicked and ashamed, Claire hurried to button up her shirt.
She opened her mouth to explain—but suddenly went silent.
Her eyes landed on the family portrait of the four of us. She shoved me away and sneered,
"What right do you have to ask for a divorce?"
"Who else but me would want a piece of trash like you—the man who killed his own son?"
Her words struck like lightning.
That unspoken, festering wound tore open again.
It bled.
I stood frozen, too stunned and hurt to reply.
A cruel, satisfied smile curled on Claire’s lips.
I called her a bitch as she slammed the door and walked out.
And I collapsed, sobbing on the floor.
Until a small voice snapped me out of my daze.
My daughter, Lily Grant, held her little rabbit, staring at me with frightened eyes.
“Daddy, did you and Mommy fight?”
“Will you separate? Will Mommy come back?”
Seeing the fear on her face, my heart twisted in pain.
I gently pulled Lily into a hug. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Go back to sleep now. I’ll take you to school in the morning.”
But Lily shook her head, her eyes fixed nervously on my phone.
After hesitating, she tugged softly at my sleeve.
“Daddy, I’ve seen that uncle before. A long time ago… on the day my brother died…”
“What did you say?”
My breath caught. My eyes widened in shock.
“Lily, do you know something? Tell Daddy what happened that day!”
Lily stepped back, her small eyes full of fear.
Then she burst into tears and rushed into my arms, crying,
“That day, Mommy brought that uncle home.”
“She said she wanted to play a game with him and told us not to disturb them. He gave us chocolate—those with alcohol inside—and locked us in the room.”
“After my brother ate it, he started crying and suddenly fell down and didn’t move anymore.”
“I got scared and banged on the door, yelling for Mommy. But she was busy playing with him and wouldn’t come, no matter how I cried.”
“Then… my brother was gone. Mommy said it was our secret and I must never tell. If I told, she’d lose me too…”
“Daddy, I’m sorry. I’m not a bad kid, I’m just scared…”
I stood there frozen, unsure how to move or breathe.
It felt like a blade twisting deep inside me.
Grace Grant’s death was the kind of pain that never fades—not for me, nor our two families.
Two years ago, I was rushed into an urgent client meeting.
To help secure a crucial deal for the company, I had no choice but to leave Grace with the nanny and drive off.
When I came back, the nanny was gone.
Only Lily remained, crying endlessly—and Grace, already stiff and cold.
The doctor said it was an allergic reaction to the alcohol in chocolate.
If she had been brought ten minutes earlier, she might have lived.
My mother collapsed from shock and died of a heart attack.
My mother-in-law turned all her fury on me.
She strangled and slapped me again and again.
She screamed in my face, calling me a murderer.
“You bastard! You left two little kids alone! Are you even human?”
