My Husband Killed Me Then Buried Our Son’s Future

After Daisy broke her leg in a skiing accident, I ordered someone to break Reign's legs and lock her away in the villa's basement.

I believed she was the cause of Daisy's accident, though she wasn't even there.

Before she died, my five-year-old son pleaded with me three times.

The first time, Benjamin said Reign had a high fever and needed some medicine. I coldly replied, “Isn't a fever normal? I want her to experience the suffering Daisy went through.”

The second time, Benjamin said her wounds were festering and begged me to take her to the hospital. I cruelly remarked, “She's not dying yet. Let me know when she does.”

The third time, Benjamin clung to my suit pants, crying that she had stopped breathing and was fading fast. Impatiently, I pushed him aside. “It's just broken legs. The doctor said she won't die.”

I didn't know that she was already dead.

==============================

My son lay curled on the ground, clutching his stomach and breathless with pain. Yet he endured, dragging himself toward the basement.

The basement reeked of decay and was suffocating, but to him, it was the only place to see his mom.

He stopped at the basement door and raised his dirty little hand to wipe away the tears on his face.

His hand trembled, yet he managed a forced smile, even though it looked more like a grimace than a smile.

“Can't let Mom see Benjamin crying. I don't want Mom to be sad.”

Seeing me, my son's emotions overflowed. He rushed over but dared not touch me too firmly, fearing he might hurt my wounds. His small hand gently stroked my forehead, trying to feel my temperature.

“It's great, Mom, your fever's gone down.”

His voice was filled with excitement, but I remained silent. I was already dead; my soul had left my body.

Benjamin grew anxious, pushing me, his voice choking with tears, “Mom, wake up! I brought you some food. Teacher said eating meat would make you better.”

I watched as he tried to feed me some pulled pork, which he had stolen from Daisy's little dog.

Though Fluffy had plenty of food and didn’t eat pulled pork, Benjamin had nearly gotten bitten by the dog.

Since I was ruthlessly locked in this dark basement, Shane ordered that I should only receive water and dinner rolls every day.

Benjamin felt sorry for me and secretly saved food for me daily.

But Shane found out, flew into a rage, and ordered the cook to keep an eye on Benjamin, making sure he couldn’t hide food away.

My son soaked the pulled pork, tore it into tiny shreds, and fed it to me bit by bit.

However hard he tried, my tightly shut lips remained unmoving.

Benjamin cried, “Mom, please eat something. If you don't, you'll die.”

Suddenly, he lifted the worn blanket, revealing my broken legs, where maggots multiplied in the wounds.

Even as a spirit, I shivered uncontrollably, but Benjamin showed no hesitation, his small hands picking the maggots from my wounds one by one.

“Mom, it'll be okay. Benjamin's getting rid of the bugs.”

“Mom, don't be scared. I'm going to sneak some medicine to save you.”

I screamed silently in Benjamin's ear; I'm okay, don't steal medicine, Benjamin, be good.

But he couldn't hear me.

Benjamin wiped away his tears and headed for the villa.

He saw Daisy's room door open, knowing there were medicines inside.

He glanced around, seeing no one, and quietly slipped into her room.

The room was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the cold dampness of the basement.

Even I, having no physical form, felt a long-lost comfort.

Without indulging in the warmth, Benjamin began rummaging through drawers for medicine.

Finally, he found a box in the nightstand, hope flashing in his eyes.

Just as he was about to leave, Daisy returned unexpectedly, and they collided, medicine spilling everywhere.