Reborn My Dying Son and the Wife Who Betrayed Us

Memories of my past life surfaced again. I curled my lips bitterly—it wasn't paranoia.

Ever since Derek moved into our place, whether it was the expensive suit I'd only worn twice or the fabric coupons I'd saved up for months, Jasmine gave them all to him under the guise of "subsidizing" him.

Now, as if to prove she didn't care about my little bit of brown sugar, she had her people bring over everything she'd brought from Capital City—specialty children's toys, and a precious, expensive suit.

The people around us gasped. "That's a department store suit! It feels so silky just touching it—I can't imagine how handsome you'd look wearing it..."

Slowly, everyone got the point. "So he's the real factory director's husband..."

Mocking looks fell on Derek. He shot me a vicious glare, gritted his teeth, and left.

I didn't bother with him. I just stared at that familiar suit, and that night I dreamed of my past life again.

Back then, after Derek moved in, I refused to give up the master bedroom. Jasmine and I had a huge fight.

She cursed me for being an unreasonable, jealous husband and kicked me out to spend the night outside in below-zero temperatures.

The brown sugar my uncle and aunt mailed me? "Subsidized" to Derek.

Even the suit I loved most—this very one—he eventually took from me after tricking her with just a few words.

Our fights became more and more frequent. At first, she would patiently coax me, but eventually she grew impatient.

The moment I truly gave up was when I went to bring her food at the factory.

A massive chandelier came crashing down. The person she instinctively shielded was Derek.

After I was discharged from the hospital, I brought up divorce. Jasmine gritted her teeth and told me not to regret it.

A divorced man's reputation is greatly affected.

The Art Troupe, my only source of income, fired me.

Not long after, our son was diagnosed as terminal. With nowhere else to turn, I went to beg Jasmine to pay for treatment and find connections.

She thought I was using our son to play the victim.

When we were kicked out of the hospital, our son weakly said he wanted to see Mom one more time.

Eyes burning, I carried him on my back and rushed over—only to find her and Derek, father and son, enjoying themselves like a happy family.

My son's face went pale. In my arms, he slowly stopped breathing.

I drank the rat poison I'd bought long ago, crying the whole time.

Before I died, I thought: if there is a next life, I will never again hope for a woman's true heart—only that my son can live safely for a lifetime.

When I woke from the dream, my pillow was soaked through with tears.

My son had already been sent to school. I hurriedly got out of bed and rushed to the Art Troupe.

Today was an important day—the principal position would be decided.

When the results came out, everyone was shocked.

The position went to Derek, someone who had never practiced.

The corner of his mouth hooked into a smug arc. "Sorry, brother-in-law. I was bored staying at home, and Jasmine wanted me to get out more, so she donated fifty pounds of rice, flour, and oil to the troupe..."

"Pah! So what if you're a nepotism hire! Alex's ability leaves you in the dust!"

A close friend beside me wanted to stand up for me, but I pulled him back.

I was so calm it surprised everyone.

"Is that so? Congratulations, then."

As long as my son's life could be saved, I wouldn't argue about anything anymore.

The brick phone in my pocket rang—bringing the good news that my son's bone marrow match had succeeded.

I almost cried tears of joy.

As I passed by Derek, I laughed softly and said, "It's just a woman. If you like picking up trash, go right ahead."

Then I hurried to the hospital.

But I missed the resentment and malice in his eyes.

When I arrived and asked the doctor when surgery could be done, he stammered out that the bone marrow source had been taken up again.

It was like being struck by lightning. I almost couldn't believe my own ears.