Our Son Died—His Family Crumbled

My husband had a low sperm count, and it took us ten years of marriage before we finally had our first child.

But while I was away on a business trip, our five-year-old son mysteriously fell from the building and was hastily cremated.

In a fit of rage, Daniel Foster beat Nanny Kate into a vegetative state for failing to watch him properly.

With a face full of grief, he knelt before me, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Grace, it’s my fault. I didn’t protect our child. I’ve punished the nanny severely. If our son knows this in heaven, he will finally rest in peace.”

I was terrifyingly calm.

At Margaret’s birthday dinner, I kidnapped her and dragged her to the rooftop of our eighteen-story penthouse, staring coldly at Daniel.

“I know you’re a dutiful son. You won’t bear to see your mother hurt, will you?”

“I’m giving you thirty minutes. If you don’t hand over the murderer who killed my son, I don’t mind letting your mother go down to keep him company.”

Daniel looked at me, disappointment written all over his face.

“Why are you acting crazy again? I told you—our son climbed up to the rooftop because he was playing. Nanny Kate is already in the hospital because of me. What murderer are you asking for?”

I slashed Margaret’s palm with my knife.

“My son’s death was suspicious. There’s no way it was an accident!”

I had already guessed that Daniel’s strange behavior lately was hiding something.

He had been in such a rush to cremate the body, just to protect the real culprit.

When I dragged Margaret to the edge of the rooftop, a crowd had gathered below, watching the scene unfold.

Fire trucks blared, ambulance lights flashed, and the entire street was in chaos.

Friends and relatives who had come for the party turned pale with shock.

Daniel emerged from the crowd, flanked by a team of bodyguards.

He looked up at his terrified, pale-faced mother, her hair messy from fear.

“Grace! My mother had nothing to do with our son’s death. How can you blame her? Bring her down—she’s old, if something happens to her, can you live with that?”

“Come down, and I won’t hold this against you. We can still live a good life together, okay?”

Daniel’s tone softened, his gentle gaze almost identical to the way he looked at me when we first fell in love.

Everyone knew how deeply he loved me, how he indulged me in everything.

Even now, with me holding his mother hostage, he would never truly blame me.

But so what?

“Daniel, you’re famous for being a dutiful son. You practically worship your mother.”

“I’ll give you thirty minutes. If you don’t bring me the killer, I’ll send your mother to join my son—and then I’ll jump too!”

I laughed bitterly, raised the knife, and brought it down.

A scream pierced the air.

Blood dripped onto the floor, glistening crimson in the sunlight.

Duct tape sealed Margaret’s mouth, leaving her to whimper and tremble violently.

The crowd gasped in horror.

Seeing that I was truly willing to draw blood, Daniel’s face darkened.

“Grace! Stop this madness! I had only one son. Everyone knows how much I loved him.”

“His death tore me apart, but it was an accident. The nanny is still lying in the hospital right now—stop suspecting everyone!”

His tone softened again.

“Grace, come down. What if you slip? Life has to go on.”

For ten years, his love for me and his devotion to our son had been the envy of every neighbor in our community.

They all said I was blessed to have married such a man.

In our first year of love, I was harassed by a group of thugs.

Frailer than most, he still fought them single-handedly, beating them down with sheer willpower, ending up hospitalized with serious injuries.

Late in my pregnancy, when my water broke and we were stuck in traffic, he shielded me with an umbrella against the blazing sun, carried me in his arms, and ran more than ten kilometers—until he collapsed from exhaustion.