Father Returned, Mother Must Die

When my mom heard about the breakup, she nearly ripped out her IV in rage. She pointed at my nose, calling me an ungrateful brat who had ruined my own happiness and driven away the “great benefactor” of our family.

She didn’t speak a single word to me that entire night.

The next day, her condition plummeted. The doctor issued a critical condition notice.

He said she needed surgery immediately, but her emotional state was so unstable that her body couldn’t withstand it.

Every second felt like torture.

I knelt by her bed, holding her frail hand, apologizing over and over. She kept her eyes shut, ignoring me, though the tears slipping from the corners of her eyes revealed her heartbreak.

I knew then—only the one who tied the knot could untie it.

I dialed Daniel Hughes’s number.

It rang for a long time before he finally answered, his voice laced with the weariness of a hangover and deliberate coldness.

“What is it?”

“My mom… she’s critical.” My voice trembled uncontrollably. “Daniel, I’m begging you. Please come back. Explain to her. Tell her we didn’t break up. Let her feel safe enough to have the surgery.”

There was silence on the other end for so long I thought he had hung up. Then came a low, bitter laugh.

“Emily Carter, now you know how to beg? When you stood there in front of your mom and treated me like a thief, did you ever imagine this day would come?”

“You’re so capable, aren’t you? Figure it out yourself.”

He was about to hang up.

“The hundred thousand dollars!” I cried out in panic. “You said the money’s still there—how do we get it out?”

He paused.

“You want the money?” His tone carried amusement. “Fine. Come ask me in person.”

He gave me an address—some private club.

I didn’t even change clothes, rushing over in my dusty jeans and white T-shirt.

When I pushed open the door to the private room, smoke and liquor filled the air.

Daniel sat at the head seat, arms wrapped around scantily clad women who were feeding him drinks.

The moment he saw me, he whistled, and the room erupted in laughter.

“Well, look who it is—our Daniel’s ungrateful ex-girlfriend. What’s the matter, catching him cheating?” a man with heavy eyeliner sneered.

Daniel shoved the women aside and stood, sauntering toward me. His eyes roamed up and down, filled with mockery and disdain.

“Emily Carter, look at yourself. Which part of you is worthy of me?”

“You want me to go back?” He pinched my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “Then kneel. Beg.”

The room fell silent, everyone waiting for the show.

I looked at his face—so familiar yet so foreign—and felt my heart grow colder with each beat.

For my mom, I clenched my teeth and let my knees buckle.

“Don’t.” Suddenly he grabbed me, keeping me from kneeling.

He leaned close, his words a venomous whisper meant only for me:

“If you want me to save your mom, you’ll do as I say. Otherwise, get ready to bury her.”

He yanked me down beside him and, in front of everyone, poured a glass of liquor over my head.

The icy liquid streamed down my hair and face, leaving me soaked and humiliated.

“This is what you owe me.” His grin was cruel.

Laughter burst out again.

I let him do as he pleased.

Only after he was bored did he wave the others away, leaving just the two of us in the room.

He leaned back on the sofa, lit a cigarette, and exhaled a slow plume of smoke.

“Tell me,” I rasped, “what’s really going on with that money?”

He blew out another ring of smoke, eyes narrowed.

“You really want to know?” He chuckled. “Did you honestly think I could transfer money into a dead man’s account all by myself?”