عندما يموت الحب، لا تبقى دموع

I went to pick up my three-year-old son from preschool, only to run into a man who had snapped and started attacking people with a knife. To protect my son, I took more than a dozen stab wounds and collapsed in a pool of blood. Ethan Lawson had the attacker taken to the police station and brought in the best medical team to save us. Before I was wheeled into surgery, I anxiously asked how my son was doing. But Ethan’s eyes were red as he told me our son had lost too much blood. He had stopped breathing on the way to the hospital. The grief hit me so hard that I passed out. I forgot to tell them I was resistant to anesthesia. When I had just barely regained consciousness, I heard Ethan speaking with the doctor. “Mr. Lawson, he could have been saved. Why did you give up on resuscitation? He was your biological son. He was only three years old.” “I never planned to let him live,” Ethan said coldly. “His birth was a mistake from the start. And now he dared to ask me for a birthday present? What, was he trying to claim inheritance rights to the company?” “Vivian’s child and mine will turn eighteen soon. I promised her I’d give the company to our child as a coming-of-age gift. I won’t let anyone compete with him for it.” So the marriage I had thought was happy had been nothing but hell all along. Fine. If that was what they wanted, I would give it to them.