He Chose His Mistress Over Our Dying Son

During the summer break, my husband, Rio Hayes, and I took our son, Amos, overseas for a horse show.

On the eve of the event, chaos erupted when a dozen horses unexpectedly stampeded towards the crowd. In my desperate attempt to shield Amos, I was knocked down, coughing up blood uncontrollably. Rio and the horse trainer managed to regain control and rushed me to the hospital immediately.

Amidst my pain, I insisted he prioritize saving our son. But he held my hand, his voice steady as he informed me that Amos was already in the operating room.

When I regained consciousness, before I could ask about Amos's condition, I overheard Rio and his bodyguard conversing in German.

"Mr. Hayes, young master Amos didn't make it. But why did you intentionally create chaos to provoke the horses and endanger your own son?"

Rio responded with a cold laugh.

"Amos was a threat to Callahan, my son with Theodora! I've already disrespected Theodora enough; I need to ensure everything in the Hayes family belongs to our son, Callahan."

Silent tears slid down my cheeks. Amos, who idolized his father, had been betrayed. If that’s how it is, then I’ll simply remove myself from this equation.

---

The bodyguard, Karim, glanced at me with some sympathy as I lay in the hospital bed. Lowering his voice, he asked, "Mr. Hayes, Mrs. Montgomery loves young Amos dearly. If she learns of his passing, she won't bear it. Should I arrange for a counseling session for her?"

Rio scoffed dismissively, "Why waste money on that? All my resources are for Callahan. Just take Amos's clothes off; if she wakes and asks to see him, give her the clothes."

Despite Karim's reluctance, he left to carry out the orders.

I tried to steady myself, processing this unbearable truth. Amos’s eagerly anticipated summer trip had turned into a harbinger of his demise. Rio, you truly are heartless.

The door opened again as Dr. Jordan Morrison entered to check on me. He informed Rio, "Mr. Hayes, her vitals are stable. She can be discharged and recover at home once she wakes."

Rio nodded and added, "Before she wakes, let’s fit her with a birth control implant."

Dr. Morrison hesitated but called for nurses to move me onto a gurney. Clutching my clothes tightly, I couldn’t hold back any longer and opened my eyes.

Rio’s brows furrowed momentarily, but he quickly masked his expression with one of guilty concern. Holding my hand, he said with misty eyes, "Honey, the doctor just told me that your internal injuries require another surgery. Don’t be afraid; I’ll wait outside for you."

Without giving me a chance to speak, he instructed the doctor to proceed with the surgery.

As we approached the operating room, he abruptly halted the doctor. I thought he had reconsidered, but instead, he issued a chilling command in German: "Forget the implant; remove her womb entirely, for convenience."

The last shred of hope I had for him shattered completely, and I resigned myself to my fate by closing my eyes.

Rio seemed to have forgotten my teenage obsession with a German pop band, which had driven me to learn German. While not fully fluent, I understood most of what was said.

Under anesthesia, the operation proceeded seamlessly. When I awoke, I found myself back in the room. Pain radiated from my wound, leaving me drenched in a cold sweat.

Rio was seated beside me, working on documents but set them aside once he saw I had awakened. Leaning over, he feigned concern, "Honey, you’re finally awake. You’ve been in a coma for three days, you frightened me so."

His eyes glistened with tears, his tone so convincingly compassionate that I felt momentarily disoriented.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a bloodstained riding jacket on the bedside table, leaving me paralyzed with shock. Trembling, I picked it up. Knowing Amos was gone was one thing, but seeing his belongings made my heart wrench with unbearable pain.

Holding me close, Rio choked out, "Honey, Amos's injuries were too severe. He’s left us, but you must stay strong. I’ll always be here with you."

The riding outfit was soaked with blood, and I shuddered imagining the agony and terror Amos must have endured.

"I want to see my son," I declared, clutching the clothes to my chest and struggling to stand.

Unable to stop me, Rio led me to the morgue.

Amos’s body, ravaged by the horses, lay there unrecognizable. I collapsed at his side in grief, consumed by overwhelming hatred.