My Son's Oscar Worthy Performance

As I watched Connor’s familiar, Oscar-worthy performance, my heart turned to stone.

Noticing my silence, Connor's sobs stopped abruptly, and he looked up at me.

"Mom?" he called out tentatively.

A nearly mocking smile touched my lips as I strode straight to Ricardo's "corpse." Without a hint of hesitation, I ripped the sheet off him.

The action was so sudden that the nearby Dr. Hayes and his nurse didn't have time to stop me.

My husband lay there, his face pale, but the rise and fall of his breathing were still visible in the dim light. This time, I even caught the faint flutter of his eyelid.

How ridiculous. Such a clumsy performance, and in my past life, I had fallen for it so easily.

Back then, I couldn't even bear to look at Ricardo, afraid I would break down. I was so blinded by grief that I failed to notice the guilt on Dr. Hayes's face.

I scanned the room with a cold, sharp gaze, my eyes locking onto Dr. Hayes.

This private clinic, I'd heard, operated in a gray area. Looking back now, it was obvious that Ricardo had bribed them all to stage this elaborate farce.

"Mom! What are you doing? That's so disrespectful to Dad!" Connor rushed over in a panic, trying to grab me. He wasn't mature enough to hide the flash of fear in his eyes—the fear of a lie about to be exposed.

"Dad is dead," he urged, his voice trembling. "Let him rest in peace. Don't disturb him."

"The dead still have one last purpose to serve," I replied calmly, not yet ready to expose his lie.