"Three years without proper treatment, and Kayla's hand is irreparably ruined. She'll never play the piano again.

"What an idiot. She's married to you, a famous holistic doctor, all these years, and she never realized you could have healed her."

A man's voice rang out, light and mocking.

"You've had your revenge 99 times over. For the final, decisive blow, why not divorce her and be with Deborah?"

After a moment, Vincent Pearson replied coolly, "Why bring this up now?"

"Deborah's back. We're all waiting for your wedding." The first man kept pushing.

Outside the carved doors of the holistic clinic, Kayla Reiner stood frozen, her hand still gripping the handle.

Her mind reeled, her ears buzzed, and she could hardly stay on her feet.

The man continued, "Vin, don't tell me you're going soft on her."

Vincent paused, his eyes still fixed on the Comprehensive Medical Reference, his tone unreadable. "It's not time yet."

Kayla's heart lurched. She peered through the door's crack at him.

Vincent wore a simple shirt, buttoned all the way up. Behind his rimless glasses, his eyes were as cold as steel.

"If Debbie hadn't told me the truth, I'd still be in the dark, treating that bastard as my own. No way I'd let her off so easily."

Kayla felt like something was blocking her throat, making it hard to breathe.

She couldn't listen anymore. She fled.

But the cruel conversation haunted her, every word a sharp blade cutting into her, reopening raw wounds.

***

The night grew deeper.

Kayla rubbed her sore wrist, her eyes on her son, Marcus Reiner, as he played quietly with his toy trucks on the couch, his hair tousled in the sweetest way. Her heart softened.

She forced herself to set aside the day's pain, gently reminding him.

"Marc, it's midnight. How about a bath and then off to bed?"

Marcus stood up and hugged her knees, serious and determined. "I want to wait for Daddy to come home."

A lump formed in Kayla's throat. Her eyes welled up. She couldn't say a word.

A car pulled up outside the house.

Marcus's eyes lit up. He let go of her and dashed toward the door.

"Daddy!" he called out happily.

Vincent stopped loosening his tie, scowled, and knocked Marcus off his thigh.

Then he said flatly, "I told you not to call me Daddy. Call me Uncle Vincent."

Kayla's face went pale. She pulled the tearful, panicked Marcus into her arms, her heart locked shut, colder than stone.

"Vin, Marc is your son. How can you—"

Vincent's eyes darkened.

"My son? Look at me, Kayla—is he really mine?" His voice was cold and stern.

In the harsh white light, his eyes reflected nothing but pure disgust.

Kayla trembled with helplessness. A hidden terror surged within her as the hellish memories returned.

A few years back, after her last piano tour, Vincent called, promising to come pick her up and celebrate.

She waited backstage for hours. Everyone else was gone, her phone was dead, and Vincent never came.

Then, something stirred behind her.

She turned, full of hope and joy, only to be dragged into a deserted storage room.

Disgust, fear, panic, and despair overwhelmed her.

That traumatic night left a wound on her soul that would never heal.

When Vincent learned the truth, his eyes grew cold and merciless, filled with intense hatred.

She would never forget that look—it was burned into her soul, haunting her endlessly.

Now, as that same look flashed in his eyes, Kayla reached for his sleeve, desperate, but froze at his indifference. Her nose stung, and tears fell.

"Vin..."

Vincent's cold eyes swept over her tears, his chest heaving as he fought to keep his composure.

His voice, hoarse and cold, sliced through the air. "Kayla, you're dirty!"

Vincent slammed the bedroom door shut with a loud bang.

Kayla trembled, swallowed by a sorrow so deep it seemed endless, loneliness pressing in from all sides.

Suddenly, a warm, small body threw itself against her legs.

Kayla looked down into Marcus's frightened, bewildered eyes, knelt, and hugged him tightly, hiding her vulnerable expression from him as tears streamed down her face.

The next morning, Kayla gently opened Marcus's bedroom door. He was sleeping peacefully.

She leaned in to wake him, helped him get dressed, and softly reminded him to drink plenty of water at preschool and listen to his teachers.

Marcus clung to the nanny's hand, reluctant to leave. "Mommy, is Daddy coming to the show tonight?"

Kayla met his clear, hopeful gaze, fighting the sting in her nose as she walked him to the villa's front door, avoiding a direct answer.

"Daddy's very busy... You'll be late, sweetheart."

After hesitating a moment, she called after him, reminding, "When you're out, don't call him daddy..."

Kayla forced a smile and signaled the driver to go, unable to meet Marcus's confused look. She turned away quickly, feeling utterly defeated.

Lowering her eyes, thinking of Marcus's expectant expression, Kayla headed to the holistic clinic.

As soon as she pushed open the ornate doors, she heard the holistic doctors gossiping about a couple in the hallway nearby.

"Look, isn't that the new doctor? She actually made the 'Ice King' Dr. Pearson smile!"

Kayla glanced up, her gaze landing on the pair at the end of the hallway, her heart sinking.

Vincent had never acknowledged their relationship at the clinic; even now, only a few close friends knew they were married.

The two chatted and laughed together, looking every bit like the perfect couple.

Especially Vincent's gaze—so focused it seemed like Deborah was the only person in the world.

Kayla's face grew even paler.

The gentle, attentive expression Vincent now gave Deborah was what Kayla had longed for, day after day. Now, he gave it to another woman without a second thought.

His fellow junior and first love—Deborah Foust.

Back in college, Kayla and Vincent had been in the throes of young love.

Deborah would always find excuses to interrupt them, claiming she needed Vincent's advice. Vincent never refused her, leaving Kayla frustrated for a long time.

It wasn't until a friend, unable to stand it any longer, told her that Deborah was someone Vincent had once loved. For a long time after that, Kayla resisted Vincent's advances, constantly anxious that he might change his mind.

Vincent in college had been a little distant, but never cold or indifferent like now. He'd always been patient and caring... so good to her.

"Hey, get out of the way!"

A patient's angry voice snapped Kayla out of it. She quickly stepped aside. As she looked up, she locked eyes with Vincent at the end of the hallway.

Vincent's smile faded, his gaze turning indifferent as he looked away, then gave Deborah a faint, reassuring smile—his meaning clear.

"She's no one you need to worry about."

"Wow! Dr. Pearson is so handsome!" The doctors nearby whispered louder, envy in their voices. "Do you think he likes the new Dr. Foust? Look, he's smiling again."

In an instant, Kayla felt like she'd fallen from the clouds into the mud. Disappointment clogged her throat, leaving her speechless, unable to vent her emotions. All she could do was turn and leave, feeling humiliated.

Kayla waited alone outside the preschool for a long time, lingering until Marcus's school performance was about to start. She wiped away her tears and finally entered.

When she caught sight of her son running toward her, the weight in her heart eased just a little.

"Marcus, I'm here to see your show." Kayla bent down and kissed Marcus's soft cheek.

Marcus looked unusually downcast, hesitated, then took Kayla's hand and led her back to his seat. Red-eyed, he whispered, "Mommy, is Dad... Uncle Vincent, someone else's daddy now?"

Kayla froze. Following Marcus's gaze, she saw Vincent's familiar figure across the room. His striking features made him stand out among the parents, and beside him, Deborah smiled radiantly, holding a child's hand.

Kayla watched as the child called out to Vincent, "Daddy!"

The cheerful songs of the preschool recital echoed all around, but Kayla barely heard them. Her gaze was vacant as she stared at the scene not far away—a picture-perfect family that should have been hers.

For a moment, she was at a loss, unsure how to explain things to Marcus. The sudden rush of bitterness and sorrow pressed down on her, almost too much to bear.

She had once dreamed, day and night, of commuting to work with Vincent, of the two of them attending parent-child activities together, living under the same modest roof, their family filled with happiness.

Now, Vincent stood just a few meters away, holding another woman's child in his arms, turning all her dreams into someone else's reality.

From her embrace came the soft sound of Marcus sobbing. Kayla quickly wiped away the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, picked him up, and forced a smile to comfort him.

"No, Marc, they're just playing around. Don't cry, sweetheart... don't cry..."

Marcus nodded, choking back tears, and wrapped his little arms around his mother's neck, his voice gentle and soft. "I won't cry. Mommy, don't cry."

Kayla hadn't expected that her four-year-old son would be the one to comfort her. The tears she'd managed to hold back nearly spilled out again.

But she managed to swallow her grief, her eyes red as she watched the rest of the recital.

In the car, the driver quietly raised the partition.

Kayla gazed down at the quiet Marcus in her arms, her fingertips tracing the features so much like Vincent's. Silent tears slipped down her cheeks.

Ever since Vincent learned the truth, everything had changed.

The loving gaze he once gave her had slowly turned into suspicion and agitation, growing dark and unfamiliar, laced with a suffocating obsession.

He always insisted she send Marcus to an orphanage, convinced Marcus wasn't his biological son.

When she refused, Vincent only grew colder...

"Vin, get a paternity test—he's our child!"

Kayla, still recovering from childbirth, lay weakly on the bed.

Vincent's sharp, chiseled features were half-lit by the lamp, the other half shrouded in shadow, his expression frighteningly grim. "Shut up. He's not!"

Kayla watched his back as he turned and left, tears streaming down her face as she tried to call him back.

"Vin..."

Vincent paused for a moment, but didn't look back as he walked away.

Outside, the scenery slowly faded. A soft murmur came from her arms.

Marcus slept restlessly, his small face scrunched up, mumbling "Daddy" in his sleep.

Kayla brushed his cheek with her fingertips, her eyes brimming with guilt and remorse.

It was her fault—she hadn't given Marcus a father's love from the very start.

When the car pulled up to the villa, Kayla gently carried Marcus to his room, tucking him in before returning to the living room.

The night deepened. Every so often, she glanced at the entryway, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram.

Suddenly, a post caught her eye, making her breath hitch.

"A warm welcome to Debbie, the newest member of our holistic team!"

In the photo, Vincent and Deborah sat side by side, the little boy from earlier grinning brightly between them.

The comments below were even more painful.

One read, "Dr. Parson, the kid looks just like you," the user adding a cheerful smile emoji at the end.

Another wrote, "Haven't seen you in years, and the kid's already so big," with a surprised emoji tacked on, as if the discovery were something delightful.

And the last one cut the deepest. "What a perfect doctor couple—even the child is adorable," finished off with a bright red heart emoji.

Her phone, untouched for ages, went dark and slipped from her hand.

The empty room was filled only with the ticking of the clock. Kayla pressed a hand to her aching heart, her entire body weighed down by a crushing sense of powerlessness.

"Vin, what are you really trying to do...?" she wondered.

She didn't know how long she'd sat there before she heard the front door open.

Vincent slammed it shut, brow furrowed as he tossed his jacket to the floor, staggering into the bedroom without noticing Kayla frozen on the couch, staring at him.

She watched as he nearly collapsed in the bathroom. Kayla hurried over to steady him, but underestimated her own strength. The tall, long-limbed man toppled onto her, pinning her beneath him.

In the chaos, her hand brushed the shower controls.

Water poured down, soaking them both.

Vincent's breath was ragged, the scent of alcohol heavy on his shirt.

Suddenly, Kayla caught sight of a glaring lipstick stain on his half-open collar.

The color matched perfectly with the shade Deborah had worn in that photo.

She didn't want to think about what had happened that night, or how they had spent it.

She pushed against Vincent with all her strength, but he only held her tighter, his hot breath against her ear making her shudder.

At last, Vincent seemed to realize the woman beneath him was Kayla, his voice low and tangled.

"Debbie..."

The name exploded in Kayla's ears like thunder. Revulsion and heartbreak overwhelmed her, and she struggled desperately.

Vincent ignored her resistance, his large hands trapping her wrists, removing his glasses with the other.

Kayla had never imagined Vincent could be so violent, so terrifying. Tears streamed down her face as she begged.

"No! Please, don't do this..."

Impatient, Vincent frowned, pulled off the prayer beads from his wrist, and shoved them into Kayla's mouth, continuing.

Hours later, the ordeal finally ended.

Vincent, now sober, put his glasses back on and looked down at the chaos in the bathtub, his face shadowed and cold.

He left her with a chilling remark.

"Isn't this what you wanted? So why pretend now?"

Kayla lay in the bathtub, disheveled and broken.

Every word from Vincent's mouth felt like a blade, slicing her soul apart, leaving her in pieces.

Her ears rang, drowning out all sound around her.

By the time she came back to herself, Vincent was already gone.

Kayla curled up, hugging herself tightly, her nails digging into her skin without feeling the pain. The suffocating sense of being used and discarded washed over her, numbing her as silent tears slid down her cheeks.

The words she'd overheard outside the holistic clinic echoed in her mind.

"So... is this the 100th time he's taken revenge?" Kayla thought.

The cold water in the tub soaked her bare skin, chilling her to the bone. She felt nothing until it began to spill over the edge, when she sluggishly realized she needed her medication.

Stumbling into the bedroom, she found the bottle and swallowed the pills. Only then did her unfocused eyes regain clarity.

She collapsed by the bed, drifting into a heavy, nightmare-filled sleep.

It was nearly dawn before Kayla finally forced her eyes open, hiding her exhaustion as she got Marcus ready for school just as she always did.

A few nights later.

When Vincent finally came home for dinner, Kayla's first instinct wasn't happiness but avoidance, anxiety prickling beneath her skin.

Still, seeing Marcus's delighted face, she held herself together.

The atmosphere at the dinner table was icy.

Kayla parted her lips a few times, but the words wouldn't come out.

All the things she'd rehearsed in her heart got stuck in her throat under Vincent's indifferent gaze, dissolving into silence.

Vincent sat calmly, as if nothing had happened that night.

Marcus was cheerful, sneaking glances at Vincent, his bright eyes filled with admiration and longing.

Suddenly, he dashed off to his room and returned, holding out a little notebook for Vincent to see.

"Dad... Uncle Vincent, these are all the stickers I've collected!"

Vincent paused, his eyes sweeping over the pages full of stickers, his expression so complicated it was impossible to read.

Kayla worried Marcus might upset him and moved to distract the boy, but Marcus looked up at Vincent, wide-eyed with nervous anticipation.

"Uncle Vincent, I'll trade all my stickers if you'll take me to the aquarium!"

Kayla froze, watching her son's anxious, hopeful face, her eyes suddenly stinging with tears.

At preschool, good behavior earned stickers, which could be traded for treats or prizes. Marcus had never traded his; he'd saved them all, never saying why.

So that was it...

Vincent glanced at the notebook, then set it aside, his tone flat. "I have plans tomorrow."

Marcus stood there, clutching the hem of his shirt, his gaze locked on Vincent. Something in his look made Vincent hesitate, and then, to Kayla's surprise, he said, "The weekend's fine."

It wasn't until Marcus was tucked in bed that Kayla finally snapped out of her daze.

She'd never imagined Vincent would agree to go to the aquarium—let alone stay home that night. It felt surreal, like she was dreaming.

On the weekend, the aquarium was packed.

Kayla nearly lost her footing in the crowd, but a strong hand steadied her shoulder, keeping her upright.

She looked up, startled, meeting Vincent's jawline just inches away. Before she could react, he let go, his distant manner cooling the brief warmth she'd felt.

At the glass window, Marcus gazed longingly at the shell-shaped candies in the nearby gift shop.

Kayla took Marcus inside while Vincent waited outside.

In the bustling shop, Marcus carefully picked out two candies.

"This one's for Uncle Vincent."

Kayla couldn't name the feeling in her heart as she queued up to pay with Marcus.

When they came out, Vincent was nowhere to be seen.

"Where did Uncle Vincent go?" Marcus looked around, eyes growing red. "Was I too greedy for candy? Did Uncle Vincent leave because I was a bother?"

Kayla quickly stroked her son's head, handed him the candy, and forced a reassuring smile. "It's okay, sweetie. I'll call him."

Stepping aside to shield Marcus from her worry, she dialed the pinned number on her phone. The old photo from happier days popped up as she waited. After a long pause, the call finally connected.

"Vin, where are you? I've already bought the candy..."

Static crackled before Vincent's cold, dismissive voice came through. "Something came up. You two have fun."

Just as he finished, Kayla heard a child's laughter on the other end.

"Daddy, come on! I want to ride the carousel!"

Kayla looked at her anxious, hopeful son, a wave of heartbreak and fury tightening her chest, her voice trembling and hoarse.

"How could you... How could you break your promise to Marc? Do you have any idea how much he was looking forward to spending time with his dad?"

Vincent was silent for a moment, his reply chillingly indifferent.

"He's nothing but a disgusting bastard. He has nothing to do with me."

Beeps echoed through the phone. Kayla listened to the long, hollow tone after the call ended, as if she'd been yanked out of a dream. Her heart thudded in her chest, the pressure making her temples throb.

She didn't cry, didn't make a scene. She just felt her steps falter, her vision blurring.

She couldn't remember how she managed to comfort Marcus through the rest of the day. Everything passed in a fog, and she curled up on her bed, staring wide-eyed into the darkness, unable to sleep all night.

Vincent didn't come home. The memory of him lying beside her the night before felt like nothing but a dream.

The next morning, Kayla dropped Marcus off at preschool. As she turned to head back to the car, she felt the weight of strange, lingering glances but couldn't figure out why. She quickened her pace toward the car.

The driver called out, panic in his voice, "Mrs. Pearson, hurry! Something's happened!"

A chill ran through Kayla, dread wrapping around her. Before she could reach the car, a figure lunged at her.

"You thief! Murderer!"

A rough hand yanked Kayla's hair, sending pain searing across her scalp. She didn't even have time to be afraid before a hard slap landed on her cheek, sending a wave of numbness through her face and a ringing in her ears.

Marcus, who had been standing by her side, immediately rushed at the attacker. "My mommy isn't like that!"

He threw himself at the person, swinging his tiny arms and legs, shouting, "You can't hurt my mommy!"

Kayla's heart pounded with terror and anguish. Ignoring her own burning pain, she reached for Marcus, trying to pull him back, but the person shoved her away, making her stumble and nearly fall.

She watched in horror as her child was caught up in the chaos, her voice hoarse as she screamed, "Marc, come back!"

"Someone's fighting—someone's fighting!"

The crowd erupted, some trying to break up the fight, others shouting. The entrance to the preschool became a scene of utter chaos.

Only when the sound of police sirens blared did a teacher rush over, scooping Marcus up and ushering him safely inside.

Kayla, dazed and aching all over, was helped up by the driver and taken to the holistic clinic to have her wounds treated.

Before she could say a word, the attacker pointed at her, shouting accusations.

Every sentence was filled with venom, claiming Kayla had plagiarized someone else's work, causing the woman's daughter to lose a competition and fall into despair, even threatening to have Kayla executed.

The crowd that had gathered listened, unable to resist whispering among themselves, their eyes filled with suspicion and malice.

Kayla trembled, her gaze meeting Vincent's furrowed brow. A cold chill swept over her as she tried to explain, "I didn't steal your daughter's work. That piece was my original composition—the drafts are still in my study."

Deborah, who had been watching with icy detachment, suddenly blanched and took a step back.

Kayla caught the look on her face and remembered, with a jolt, that Deborah had visited their home while Kayla was preparing for the competition. Afterward, Kayla's unpublished piece had appeared on major platforms—and even in the contest.

Just as she was about to speak, the attacker spat out another accusation.

"If Ms. Reiner won't admit it, then play your famous competition piece again!"

"I can't... I'm sick..."

Kayla's face went pale, her whole body trembling uncontrollably. She tried to speak, but couldn't form a single coherent sentence.

What happened that day had not only robbed her of her dignity—it had ruined her hands forever.

She looked desperately at Vincent. He was the one who'd treated her hands; he knew better than anyone that she could never play piano again.

But all she saw was his cold, indifferent gaze.

"That's enough, Kayla. Stop making excuses."

His harsh words silenced her instantly. She stared at him, lost and dazed, as if wandering through a nightmare in hell.

The pain from the attack felt like it was burning through her, more intense than she could bear.

"Is this just another act of revenge?" Kayla thought.

Sensing the tension, a police officer quickly stepped in.

"Causing a disturbance is wrong, and assault is even worse. Regarding the allegations this lady has made, we'll assign someone to investigate. Once we have results, we'll notify everyone..."

The police escorted the attacker away, and the crowd, seeing the spectacle was over, began to disperse. Kayla sat there, vacant-eyed, clothes soiled, her body covered in bruises.

Vincent had already left, Deborah at his side.

Kayla couldn't say a word. Her nose stung, and at last she couldn't hold back the tears. They slid down her swollen, stinging cheeks, leaving her numb.

Suddenly, her phone rang in her bag. She pulled it out and saw an email from the International Piano Association.

"Notice of Expulsion—Ms. Reiner, due to severe misconduct, you are hereby removed from the association."

Kayla's hand shook as she held her phone. She asked the driver to take her home.

The pain in her body didn't fade over the next few days—if anything, it grew worse.

After dropping Marcus off at school, she finally decided to go to the hospital for a checkup and get some medication.

She thought it would be a routine examination, but the doctor studied her report, flipping through the pages with a deep frown before looking up at her, face grave.

"It's late-stage cancer. At most, you have two weeks to live."

In the dimly lit room, Kayla curled up on the bed, clutching a black comforter tightly to her chest.

Her head hung low, her face buried in the folds of the blanket, shoulders shaking with muffled, restrained sobs—like a lost, helpless child, completely alone.

Her phone on the pillow kept buzzing, and it took Kayla a while to realize someone was sending her emails.

When she finally checked, her inbox was flooded with messages filled with hate.

"Murderer!"

"How could someone as shameless as you steal other people's work?"

"Why don't you just die!"

Kayla stared at the barrage of malicious curses from strangers, then suddenly flung her phone away. She pressed the comforter hard over her ears, desperate to block out the venom and the constant ringing in her head.

She didn't know how much time had passed before a violent coughing fit snapped her out of her haze. She quickly clamped her hand over her mouth and rushed to the sink, coughing until blood splattered across the white ceramic tiles.

Kayla gazed at her own pale reflection in the mirror, trembling as she wiped the blood from her lips. Silently, she turned on the faucet, washing away the crimson streaks from the basin.

Then she took out the medication she'd been given and swallowed it numbly.

Staring down at her disheveled appearance, Kayla suddenly felt an urge to tell Vincent everything.

No matter how much he hated her or refused to listen, she just wanted to ask him to take care of Marcus.

Even if he didn't love her, even if he wanted revenge, it didn't matter anymore.

She was dying.

She picked up her phone and, one digit at a time, dialed the number she knew by heart, pressing it to her ear.

"Beep... beep..."

She waited, her courage fading with every passing second. Just as she was about to hang up, the call connected.

Her eyes lit up, and she was about to speak—when a child's voice came from the other end.

"Daddy's taking a shower. Who is this?"

Kayla's smile froze at the corners of her mouth, her heart twisting painfully, robbing her of any will to speak.

"Hello? Is this Kayla?"

Suddenly, Deborah's syrupy voice came through the phone. Waves of nausea rose in Kayla's chest, and she couldn't stop herself from ending the call. She didn't want to hear another word.

At that moment, she felt true, endless despair. From the very beginning, it had all been nothing but wishful thinking on her part.

A few more days passed, and Kayla's condition worsened.

She watched the thermometer as her temperature climbed again. Another low-grade fever. The pain in her chest grew sharper, her mind growing foggier.

She remembered the driver's call earlier, saying he couldn't make it today. Kayla dialed around, hoping to find a friend who could pick up Marcus, but everyone turned her down. In the end, she had no choice but to call Vincent.

He answered right away, his tone as cold as ever. "What?"

"...Vin, I have a fever. Could you pick up Marc for me?"

On the other end, Vincent paused, hands stilling over his medicine bottles. He heard the rasp in her voice, and though he wanted to refuse, the words stuck in his throat.

The silence stretched between them until Kayla's coughing broke it.

"Cough... Please, just this once. I'm begging you."

Vincent heard the pleading note in her voice and, inexplicably irritated, agreed without thinking, then hung up.

"Just this once."

Kayla put down her phone, still uneasy. The weather had been bad for days, and the gloomy sky outside only made her more anxious.

Dusk settled in.

Kayla slept through the afternoon, her fever finally subsiding. She sat on the couch, waiting, growing more and more restless.

Suddenly, her phone rang.

She answered immediately—it was the preschool teacher, and her heart dropped.

"Mrs. Pearson, there's been an accident!"

Kayla couldn't remember how she got there. She stood in shock, staring at the burning classroom, thick smoke pouring from the windows, orange flames licking at the colorful walls, the stench of death everywhere.

The teacher's eyes were red as she spoke, but Kayla couldn't hear a word. She searched frantically for Marcus, not seeing him anywhere, and grabbed the teacher, her voice hoarse with desperation.

"Where's my son? Where is he? Where's Marcus?!"

"He's still inside with another child. A Pearson family member just ran in..."

Kayla's despair snapped into focus. Of course, Vincent had arrived before her. He would save Marcus. He had to bring her son out!

Just then, Vincent burst through the door, carrying a boy in his arms.

In the next instant, the flames surged, the building exploded with a deafening roar, and the blast threw Vincent to the ground.

Kayla rushed forward in wild relief, but another woman beat her to it, running to the child in Vincent's arms and sobbing uncontrollably.

Watching Deborah clutch the boy, weeping with joy, Kayla realized the child Vincent had rescued wasn't Marcus.

A terrible suspicion froze her in place.

She lunged toward Vincent, grabbing his collar, her voice colder than ever.

"Tell me—Marc's not still inside, is he?"

The prayer beads on Vincent's wrist were half-charred, his usually calm face now covered in ash.

For the first time, he looked utterly lost, his voice trembling and hoarse.

"He... he's still in there."

Kayla's mind went blank, her face frozen, unable to register any emotion. She sprang to her feet and ran toward the burning building, oblivious to the searing heat engulfing everything.

Vincent grabbed her, shouting, "Are you trying to get yourself killed?!"

Kayla's eyes were bloodshot, as if she couldn't hear a word he said. She fought to break free, desperate to reach the upper floors. Even when she collapsed, exhausted, she tried to crawl toward the classroom, now swallowed by flames and smoke.

Smack!

A sharp pain exploded across her cheek, snapping her out of her frenzy.

She stared at the man in front of her, his own eyes red and breath coming in ragged gasps. Behind him, the building burned, and suddenly Kayla burst into laughter. Her laughter cracked and turned into sobs as she collapsed, pouring out every last bit of emotion. The tears kept flowing, as if they would never run dry.

Not even when she learned she was dying had Kayla broken down like this.

Her only attachment, her last bond to this world, her little ray of sunshine...

Kayla had even planned to pretend to move overseas before she died, pre-recording birthday messages for every year—so Marcus wouldn't be so sad without his mom, and she could leave in peace...

But... but!

How could the little boy she'd raised with her own hands, who'd always looked after her, be gone so soon?

Kayla pictured him trapped in that classroom, watching the flames close in, terrified and in pain. Did he call out her name?

All the words she'd wanted to say would never reach him now. Marcus was gone, forever frozen in the summer he was four.

Kayla could never understand why Vincent hadn't reached in and brought Marcus out—how could he just stand there and leave him in that inferno?

Her soul was gutted, buried with her child in the fire.

No one dared approach the woman sitting on the ground, battered and broken. The deathly stillness clinging to her inspired only pity and sorrow.

Hours passed.

When the firefighters finally extinguished the blaze, only a single skeleton remained in the charred ruins.

Following the firefighters' directions, Kayla gathered the last traces Marcus had left in a corner of the classroom.

She carefully scooped the blackened ashes into a clear glass jar, numbly following instructions for the aftermath, filling out the death certificate.

She signed her name, took the tiny urn of ashes, and went home.

Kayla sat motionless on the couch, clutching the cold, hard box to her chest. How could her once vibrant little boy have become something so lifeless and cold?

The clock in the hall ticked on.

Her body and spirit were at their breaking point; she couldn't bear any more pressure, any more pain. She felt herself slipping, unable to hold on.

She wanted to clear Marcus's name—and to follow him wherever he'd gone.

Kayla took the paternity test report from the cabinet and weighed it down with a cup on the living room table. Hugging the urn, she drove away.

She stopped by the riverbank, stepped out, and walked slowly toward the water with the urn clutched to her chest.

Standing at the edge, she calmly pulled out her phone and sent Vincent a message.

With quiet resolve, she slipped off her wedding ring and set it aside. In the faintest whisper, she said, "Marc, don't be afraid. Mommy's coming with you..."

Then, holding the urn, she leapt.

Her frail figure disappeared beneath the rushing water. The river splashed, then settled into silence.

It was so quiet, it was as if no one had ever been there—except for the woman's wedding ring, lying still on the riverbank.

Her phone kept vibrating, the screen flashing with incoming calls.