She Let Our Son Die for Her Lover

“Damn it, Daniel! If I hadn’t stopped you, would you have killed Victor? You’re a murderer!”

But I couldn’t hear anything anymore. All I wanted was the truth about how my son died.

Yet Isabelle refused to speak and raised her hand to slap me again.

“Yes! I was the one driving! I hit him with the car—satisfied now?”

Then she walked away with Victor.

As she passed, she deliberately bumped into me and gave a smug smile.

I chased after her and slapped her hard across the face.

“Our son is dead—do you understand that? Dead!”

“So it really was you. You ran him over yourself. You’re not even human. You don’t deserve to be called his mother. You’re a monster!”

Isabelle held her cheek, stunned. She never expected me to hit her.

Since our wedding, I have treated her like a princess—never once scolded her, let alone raised a hand.

“You dared to hit me?” she gasped.

“Yes, I hit you. My son is lying cold in the morgue right now. His body isn’t even stiff yet...”

“Can’t you come up with a better lie? Your son’s dead? Hit by my car?”

She stared at me with disgust, then grabbed the stab wound on my wrist and squeezed it hard.

Pain shot through me, and before I could pull away, Victor shoved me aside.

“Enough, Daniel. I know what happened between me and Isabelle is disgraceful, but stop blaming everything on her. She’s a woman—she deserves care, not cruelty.”

“What do you know?” I spat. “All you do is run your mouth like a lunatic.”

“It was your son who attacked me this morning. Who cares about him now?”

My blood turned cold. I felt like arrows were piercing straight into my heart.

So it really was them.

The doctor had said my son was dragged hundreds of meters by the car before he died.

He must’ve discovered the affair and tried to stop them, only to be run over.

Enraged, I lunged at Victor.

But bodyguards hired by Isabelle pinned me down, and she kicked my knee with full force.

“I knew it! You still want to hurt Victor. What did he do wrong to deserve death?”

“Apologize to him!”

I thrashed like a wild animal.

“Isabelle, you want me to apologize to him—the one who murdered my son? In your dreams.”

My rage consumed me, burning away the last of my reasons.

It was their affair—their betrayal—that cost me my son’s life.

Smack!

“Who are you calling a murderer?” she yelled. “Who did we kill? You think you can parade your son’s death around like a banner? Are you even a father?”

She slapped me again, forcing me to bow and apologize to Victor.

When I refused, her patience snapped.

She grabbed my hair, slammed my head to the ground, and made me kowtow repeatedly.

My head split open from the force. Blood dripped down, and pain tore through my skull and chest.

Years ago, this same woman had clung to me with tears in her eyes.

She promised we’d live a happy life together—that she would never betray me or hurt me for another man.

Now those vows burned into ashes, scattered like dust in the wind.

I bit down hard on my lip. Blood from my forehead mixed with my tears as I lay collapsed on the cold ground.

“Isabelle,” I whispered hoarsely, “go to the morgue. See for yourself if I’m lying.”

“Go look at your son. He hasn’t even closed his eyes yet!”