He Saved the Dog, Not Our Children

In the circles of New York high society, Ethan Miller was known as the heir who suffered from natural infertility. As for me, Sophia Brooks, I was considered “naturally fertile,” and within a year of our marriage, I had given him a pair of fraternal twins—a boy and a girl.

But at the scene of the car accident, our two children and Chloe Adams’s beloved pet dog were pinned under opposite ends of the wreckage. Ethan instinctively ordered the rescue team to save the children first.

Yet Chloe cried pitifully, “Star is like my own child. If something happens to him, I won’t survive either.”

The next second, Ethan gave the order to rescue the dog first.

My children, crushed beyond recognition, were rushed to the hospital, but the nurse told me that all the doctors in New York had been summoned away by Ethan.

Heartbroken, I called him, begging for help, but he only replied impatiently:

“Star is trembling in fear and needs doctors to watch him overnight. Let the kids wait a little longer.”

In the end, my children died from multiple fatal fractures.

I carried their ashes back to the Miller mansion, broken and dazed.

“You Millers have lost your bloodline forever,” I said coldly.

…

“I told the rescuers to save the children before I left. What else do you expect me to do?”

“Sophia, when did you become so petty?”

“Jealous of a dog? You even dare to make up such lies while your children are dying. Do you even know how to be a mother?”

Even through the phone, I could picture Ethan frowning, his face full of impatience.

“Ethan, what should we do? Star is trembling again…” Chloe’s sobbing voice came through the line, and then I heard Ethan shouting frantically:

“Doctor, save him quickly!”

“How can this just be a shock? Run a full-body check again!”

Chloe’s tone grew more anxious:

“Ethan, could Star have been touched by something unclean? Maybe if we can find a boy and a girl to stay by his side and pray for him through the night…”

The phone was picked up again, Ethan’s voice urgent:

“The children’s life force is strong. Bring them here to keep vigil for Star right away…”

I stared at the heart monitor as both lines went flat, then finally hung up the phone.

The Miller family had a long-standing favor owed by my family. When Margaret Miller begged me, in the name of that family debt, to marry Ethan despite his infertility, I agreed.

Every woman in the Brooks family had been known for her fertility, and I was the most gifted of all—able to give the Millers a pair of healthy fraternal twins in one birth.

But it wasn’t until after the wedding, when Ethan got drunk one night, that I learned the truth: I had never been more than a tool for him to carry on the family line. Chloe was the woman he truly cared about.

My phone kept lighting up with new messages:

“As long as you bring the kids, when you come back, I’ll take you to retake that family portrait.”

Once, that had been my greatest wish. Now it only felt like the cruelest mockery.

Today should have been the twins’ third birthday. After begging endlessly, Ethan had finally agreed to join us for a family portrait.

But when we got to the car, I saw Chloe already sitting in the passenger seat, clutching her dog.

“Sophia, every year Ethan and I take Star for a family portrait. This year we’re lucky to have you with us too!”

Not wanting to ruin the children’s joy, I got in with them.

But on the way, tragedy struck.

Remembering it now, my eyes blurred with tears again.

I cleaned and prepared my children’s little bodies, then, suppressing my grief, had them cremated.

In just two short days, they went from being warm, giggling little ones in my arms to nothing more than ashes, sealed in two tiny urns.