I Buried My Son, You Pampered Your Mistress

We stood there, in front of the cremation furnace, mourning all night. When the staff finally handed me the small box containing my son’s favourite toy, it felt like my heart was being crushed.

I placed the box carefully, then rushed out, barely able to breathe and took a cab back home.

My son’s belongings lay untouched in that cold room. I would never leave them for James, the man who had never truly loved him.

But the moment I opened the door, I was assaulted by the loud, jubilant noise.

“Wow, Greta’s amazing! She’s carrying James’s little princess now!”

The whole house was decorated in pink. James and Greta’s friends were all toasting.

Someone mocked me, waving the divorce papers I had left behind like a victory flag. “James, that bitch at your house actually has some guts, divorcing you and even saying she’ll leave with nothing.”

“She must be out of her mind! A poor woman trying to take the kid? Doesn’t she know her place?”

“Tsk, if it were me, I’d let her take him! What kind of child is that? He smells of poverty. Taking him out would just be embarrassing for James!”

“Exactly! Let Greta have him! She’ll give birth to a real heir for the Laurent family!”

The crowd burst into laughter. I opened the door, stepped inside and suddenly everything went silent.

James looked at me with cold indifference, tightening his grip on Greta as if I were invisible.

"Who cares about being a ‘young master’? My daughter will be just as good.”

"Greta and I had begun her education before she was even born."

As he spoke, he placed a small model airplane on Greta’s rounded belly."

I recognized it immediately. It was my son’s favorite toy, the first model he’d ever built with James.

Even after I bought him better, more expensive toys, he clung to that little plane every night … because it smelled like his father.

Now, the father he loved most was giving that precious toy to someone else’s child.

I couldn’t hold it anymore. I rushed forward, my voice breaking in pain, “James! Our son is dead and you’re already doing this? How could you?!”

The air around James grew cold instantly. Then, without warning, he slapped me across the face. “Evelyn, still bringing up his death? Are you addicted to acting?”

I couldn’t move fast enough to avoid it, so my head hit the corner of a table and warm blood trickled down.

And my son’s most cherished toy plane was heartlessly crushed under James’s heel.

“It’s just a toy! What’s wrong with giving it to his sister? Is this how you raise a kid?”

“You couldn’t even grow a rose properly and left a mess. Now, you and your little brat think you can stand up to me?!”

As I looked at his disgusting face, all I could think of was the unimaginable pain my son had endured before his death. I wanted to drag this man to our son’s grave, make him kneel and force him to apologize!

But then, my son’s comforting words from that afternoon echoed in my ears.

“Mommy, don’t cry. Don’t blame Daddy. It’s Noah’s fault. Noah can take it!”

“But Daddy was kind of mean. I fell and he didn’t help me. He even yelled at me. If he does it again, I won’t talk to him!”

“Mommy, next time, let’s both ignore Daddy, okay?”

I closed my eyes, swallowed the agony in my chest and spoke slowly, forcing the words out.

"You’re right. I’ve failed as a mother. I don’t deserve to be part of your Laurent Family. Sign the divorce papers. This is over, James. We’re done!”

James looked at me, a cruel smirk on his lips.

"You want me to sign the divorce papers? Fine! Get on your knees, apologize to Greta and admit you ruined everything! You spoiled that kid, let him wreck her garden and destroyed the party!”

“When she’s happy, I’ll sign it.”