After My Son Died, I Took Revenge Crazily!

My son was diagnosed with a severe heart condition, and the doctors warned us to avoid any strenuous activity.

I asked my husband to take him to the hospital, but he dismissed my concerns, accusing me of being overprotective. Instead, he sent our son to a fencing class, insisting that physical exercise would do him good.

Tragically, after the class, our son collapsed and went into shock. His organs failed, and he died. While still recovering from breast surgery and battling a high fever, I had to arrange his funeral.

During this heart-wrenching time, my husband, who had been missing for days, sent a picture of himself with a college girl I had been financially supporting. They were on a parent-child study tour abroad. His message read, "So proud of you, sweetheart."

Heartbroken, I packed my things and left.

My husband, with tears streaming down his face, pleaded for my forgiveness.

1

Returning home with my son Oliver Brooks' belongings from school, I was greeted by an unexpected sight.

In the warm, comforting light of our dining room, my husband, Daniel Brooks, was sitting close to Lily, Claire Morgan's daughter, patiently guiding her through her homework.

Nearby, Claire delicately fed grapes to Daniel, creating an intimate family portrait.

As soon as Daniel noticed me, his expression soured. "Grace, slacking off work again? Your laziness is getting out of hand," he scolded.

Claire, wiping the sweat from his brow, turned to me with a sweet smile. "Grace, we've been on a study tour for a week, and Lily has fallen behind. Daniel is helping her catch up. You don't mind, do you?"

I watched Daniel attentively explain the lesson, repeating himself with patience and care, a stark contrast to how he treated our son.

When Oliver had once sought his help with a difficult problem, Daniel dismissed him. "Are you dumb? Can't solve something this simple?"

His harsh words brought tears to Oliver's eyes, and instead of comforting him, Daniel had punished him with a belt.

Just as I was about to speak, Claire sneezed unexpectedly.

Daniel immediately sprang into action, draping a coat over her shoulders and asking tenderly if she needed to see a doctor.

I remembered the lump I had found in my breast not long ago. The doctor had warned it might be serious and advised me to have a family member accompany me for surgery.

I had pleaded with Daniel to be there, but he coldly replied, "It's just a small lump. Stop being so dramatic."

It turned out to be breast cancer, but to him, it was a trivial matter.

The difference between love and indifference was painfully clear.

Daniel began massaging Claire's shoulders, and she glanced at me, murmuring, "Grace is still here. She might not like this..."

But I was beyond caring.

I had already decided that once my surgery was over, I would leave with Oliver and let them have their life together.

Now, with my son gone, there was nothing left to hold me here.

I cleared my throat and said, "Daniel, I want a divorce."