Reborn My Dying Son and the Wife Who Betrayed Us

I froze for a moment, then calmly handed her the test report I'd picked up.

"I just wanted to tell you—our son is sick. It's serious. Acute lymphoblastic leukemia."

"If we don't find a matching bone marrow donor soon, he might… die."

She went rigid, hands trembling as she took the report.

"Okay. I'll ask around right away. We should have results soon."

I let out a breath and nodded.

"Good. I'll take him to bed."

She moved to follow, but Derek quickly pinched his son.

Tommy cried out. "Without Mrs. Sullivan telling stories, Tommy can't fall asleep."

Derek put on a show of scolding him. "We're just staying here temporarily. We can't bother Mrs. Sullivan with everything."

Jasmine hesitated. I smiled and said, "Go on. Don't make the kid wait too long."

But her expression darkened.

"That's enough. Tommy's already in elementary school. He should learn to be independent."

Derek's smug smile froze.

He shot me a venomous look, wiped his eyes like he was sulking, and scooped up his son. "Fine. Who told Tommy he's had no mom since he was little? Mooching off someone else's house, making people dislike him. I'll pack our bags right now—"

Annoyance flickered in Jasmine's eyes. "Stop it. Where are you taking him in the middle of the night?"

She hesitated, about to chase after him, then glanced back at me.

I smiled. "Go. He's your brother-in-law. It's only right."

Relief washed over her face. "Okay. Wait for me—I'll come back and read our son a story."

It wasn't until I'd coaxed our son to sleep that I heard a door creak open.

Derek stood there, tugging at his pajama collar to reveal a trail of red marks. His smile was pure provocation.

"Sorry, bro. Jasmine fell asleep in my room."

I smiled, unsurprised. "Okay."

I was almost used to it.

Early the next morning, after our son finished breakfast, Jasmine finally emerged from the master bedroom with dark circles under her eyes.

Derek leaned in and straightened her collar.

"You worked hard last night, Jasmine."

In the past, that kind of innuendo would've sent me into a rage.

Jasmine instinctively looked at me, ready to explain.

I cut her off with a light laugh. "Eat. We still have to visit the grave."

I'd agreed with her two weeks ago to visit my mom's grave. When Mom was alive, she'd doted on Jasmine like her own daughter. Every year, I made sure to bring her along.

She'd borrowed the biggest vehicle from the plant.

When we got in, Derek slid into the front passenger seat before I could.

Jasmine glanced at me. "Derek had a hard life before. He doesn't really understand car etiquette. Don't hold it against him…"

I shook my head. "It's just a seat. Not important."

Neither was Jasmine—not anymore.

After dropping our son and Tommy at school, Jasmine drove toward the cemetery.

Just as we were about to arrive, Derek clutched his chest. "It hurts—really bad."

Jasmine pulled over immediately. "What do we do? Can you hold on a little longer?"

Tears welled in his eyes. He bit his lip, feigning strength. "Yes. I can."

But her worried gaze was glued to him.

I spoke up, considerate as ever.

"Go with him to the doctor. I can walk the rest of the way."

I stepped out of the car.

It hesitated for a moment—then made a U-turn and sped away.