After Loretta Wright's son died, everyone expected her to lash out at Raymond Poole, her husband. After all, her son had been her entire world.

But to everyone's surprise, she became a different person.

She no longer got up early each day to iron Raymond's suits or make him a different breakfast each morning.

She stopped forcing him to try her newly learned, burnt cakes or to drink her failed latte art.

When he came home late, worn out from work, there were no longer neatly folded pajamas or water set at the perfect temperature beside the bed.

Three days earlier, she had passed out at the graveside of her son, Jody Poole, and was helped up by the cemetery caretaker.

"Ma'am, should I call your family?"

Looking at the small photo of Jody on the headstone, she answered in a voice barely above a whisper, "No. I don't have family anymore."

She locked herself in her room for a full week.

When she finally walked into the living room again, she met Raymond's gaze.

He was sitting on the sofa, a cigarette between his fingers, his gaze heavy, displeased, impatient. "Loretta, how long are you going to keep up this act?"

Act? So he thought she was only trying to get attention?

The truth was she'd spent seven nights in a row at Jody's grave until dawn, not eating.

It wasn't that she didn't want to. She couldn't—every swallow brought back the memory of Jody's last, muffled cry of "Mommy."

She looked at Raymond. His face, once engraved in her heart, now shifted between clarity and a strange, twisted blur through her tear-filled eyes.

The memories washed over her.

On that awful day, she had raced frantically to the abandoned factory. From behind a broken wall, she overheard the conversation she would never forget.

"Ray, the kidnappers say they'll only release one boy. Jody or Patty's boy."

"Jody's only five... And so is Brett..."

"Mr. Poole, we need to decide. The kidnappers said if we don't give an answer soon, they'll..."

Through the haze of cigarette smoke, Raymond's voice was flat, empty of feeling. "Tell them to let Brett go."

"What about Jody? He—"

"Lori's young. We can have more kids," Raymond cut off his subordinate, his tone so calm it sounded like he was discussing the weather. "But Patty's health is weak. The doctor said Brett might be her only child."

A sharp, ringing tinnitus pierced Loretta's mind without warning.

The confession of the captured lead kidnapper echoed in her head once more. "We just wanted to scare them... We got a message from Mr. Poole, telling us to let the boy in the blue jacket out... That's why we switched the hostages..."

Loretta closed her eyes, forcing back the rising nausea and the cold, hard truth.

Her silence, to Raymond, looked like quiet defiance.

He crushed out his cigarette, his voice edged with irritation. "How many times do I have to tell you? It was an accident. The kidnappers changed their minds at the last second. I had no idea they'd actually go through with it.

"Besides, you were the one who insisted on taking Jody to the amusement park that day. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been taken in the first place. He wouldn't have died." He stood up, his shadow falling over her. "Find some time to apologize to Patty and Brett. He's still shaken up, having nightmares."

Apologize?

His words ruthlessly stabbed Loretta's heart like a sharp knife.

She had lost her son. And he wanted her to apologize to the ones who benefited from this "exchange"?

A splitting headache stole the last of her strength to argue, leaving only a deep exhaustion.

"Fine," she heard her own hollow voice say.

Raymond frowned deeply.

Since when had Loretta become so ... submissive? It wasn't quite like her.

Before Raymond could dwell on it, his phone buzzed in his pocket. The distinct, custom ringtone cut through the quiet, jarring and sharp.

The screen lit up with a new message. Loretta saw the short line clearly. "Ray, Brett's having nightmares again. He won't stop crying. Says he's scared of the dark."

"Go ahead," she said, turning away before Raymond could speak.

Surprised, Raymond instinctively parted his lips to say something, but she was already walking into the room that used to be Jody's and closing the door.

Through the door, she heard his voice, soft with a tenderness she and Jody had never known. "Don't worry. I'll be right there. Warm some milk for Brett. I'll get him back to sleep."

Then his footsteps hurried off.

Almost at the same moment, Loretta's phone chimed. Her best friend, who also happened to be her lawyer, sounded worried. "Lori, the investigation report on Jody's accident insurance is in. It shows transfer records between Raymond's assistant and the kidnappers' middleman... The evidence chain is solid. But I have to warn you, suing Raymond for indirectly causing Jody's death means making an enemy of the whole Poole Group... You are still married to him.

"Are you sure about this?"

Loretta looked toward the empty little bed in the room, where Jody's favorite Transformer toy still lay.

After a long silence, her voice came out flat, empty of any feeling. "Yes.

"Soon, Raymond will be a stranger to me."

Raymond was the most brilliant head of the Poole Group, known for being untouchable, polished, and distant.

Loretta, on the other hand, was just a junior actuary. But six years ago, in the middle of a meeting, she'd had the nerve to argue with him, point by point. That was all it took—he was hooked, pursuing her almost fervently from that day on.

He created fake meteor showers for her over the city's night sky.

He gave her a century wedding that made the whole town envious.

But he was also the one who left her alone at home for five whole years after they married. That was, until that one tipsy night when she ended up pregnant with Jody.

She thought Jody's arrival would change everything, so she poured all her love and energy into trying to melt Raymond's coldness, to win his affection.

Then Patrice Lawson came back from abroad, along with her son Brett.

Patrice was the sister of a subordinate who died shielding Raymond from a knife meant for him. Raymond had taken Brett as his godson.

Loretta ran into them once when they picked Brett up from kindergarten, and she saw how Raymond hired an entire circus for Brett's birthday party.

When Brett shoved Jody next to the swimming pool and Jody needed three stitches, for the first time, Loretta snapped at Brett.

Raymond rushed to the hospital and scolded her in front of everyone, "Loretta, why are you picking on a five-year-old? He didn't mean it. You're an adult. Act like one."

That night, she took Jody to leave for the first time.

Not long after came the kidnapping "out of nowhere"—the kidnappers took both Jody and Brett.

After getting the ransom call, Loretta raced over in a panic, arriving outside the abandoned factory just in time to hear the words that sealed Jody's fate.

"Let Brett go."

When the gunshot rang out, she rushed inside, only to find Jody in a pool of blood, his eyes still open, staring in her direction.

When Loretta came to, her world had crumbled.

The most ridiculous part was that while she was holding Jody's cold body in the morgue, Raymond was at a party celebrating with Patrice and Brett—Brett's "escape from death" party.

The memories came and went like a passing breeze.

So be it.

The faint thought drifted through Loretta's mind.

Wasn't this exactly what Raymond wanted?

A puppet for a partner—one who didn't cry, yell, make scenes, ask questions, beg for love, or even fixate on their son's death.

To him, she was perfect this way.

She hung up and texted Kendra Poole, Raymond's mother, "You want me to leave Raymond? OK. On one condition—I want a divorce in a week."

Kendra's reply was full of disdain. "If you'd wised up sooner, you could've spared us all the drama. You, with your modest background, were never good enough for Ray to begin with."

"Consider it done. You'll have your divorce in a week."

Loretta put her phone away, her eyes empty and cold.

The Poole family had never approved of her marriage to Raymond.

He had insisted on marrying her, which was why she'd put up with years of their disapproval and snubs.

But now?

She was done.

She started to pack.

She'd lived here for six years, and now she was wiping away every trace of her and Jody. She wasn't erasing them—she was taking them with her.

Just as she was pressing one last Jody's unworn little sweater into the bottom of the suitcase, the bedroom door was pushed open.

Raymond's eyes moved over the suitcase, and that familiar mocking smile touched his lips again. "Which retreat are you running off to with Jody's things this time? How long are you going to keep playing the grieving mother?"

Before she could answer, he announced, his voice cold and firm, "Brett's severely traumatized. His therapist says he needs a stable home environment. He and Patty are moving in. He's afraid of the dark—he needs a south-facing room. He'll take the nursery. Clear out everything in here."

Loretta looked past his shoulder and saw Patrice holding the little boy's hand. The boy was wearing Jody's favorite blue jacket and clutching the remote-control car Raymond had given Jody for his birthday.

The boy said timidly, not daring to meet her eyes, "Mrs. Poole... Daddy said this is my room now."

Daddy?

Loretta's fingers dug into her palms hard enough to nearly draw blood.

Patrice spoke up, her soft voice mixed with a sob, "Ray, don't be like this... Brett can stay in the guest room. You shouldn't put Lori in such a difficult spot... She just lost Jody. The room—"

"Jody's gone," Raymond cut in, his tone icy. "The living come first. Loretta, you're my wife. I expect you to be understanding."

He stared at Loretta, waiting for the usual breakdown—the sobbing, the screaming, the argument about "Jody is your son, not anyone else" that he was sick of.

But all he heard was a single word, spoken with a calm that almost sent a chill through him. "OK."

He was stunned, his prepared lecture stuck in his throat.

Loretta didn't even glance at the suitcase he'd nudged aside. She simply crouched down and opened the bottom drawer of the wardrobe—the one that held Jody's drawing book. Every page was filled with sketches titled "My Daddy," "My Mommy," "My Family."

With the book in her arms, she stood and walked toward the guest room, which was much smaller than the nursery.

As Raymond watched her unnervingly calm back, a flicker of unease passed through him, only to be buried beneath a quiet conclusion—she had finally accepted reality.

The guest room was cold and damp, its window facing a tall north-facing wall.

Loretta set the drawing book down. A splitting headache hit her, hard, and with it came a wave of nausea.

She swallowed the sleeping pill her doctor had prescribed, then fell onto the bed fully dressed, clutching Jody's pillow tightly. It still held a faint, almost vanished trace of his milky scent.

She didn't know how much time had passed when a deafening crash tore her from her drugged sleep.

The door to the room was kicked open, letting in a biting wind.

In the next moment, her wrist was seized in an iron grip. She was yanked off the bed and slammed heavily onto the floor.

Raymond's face, twisted with rage, was centimeters from hers. The usual ice in his eyes had melted into a scorching intensity, all reason gone.

"Loretta, I underestimated you. How could you be so vicious?"

He dragged her through the cold hallway all the way to the front door of the villa. Then he pointed at Patrice and Brett, who stood outside in the swirling snow, soaked through and shivering.

"I was gone for two hours, and you already threw them out? Forced them to stand in this storm? Brett has asthma! You could have killed him!"

Loretta trembled in the freezing snow, her head pounding, her vision blurry.

She fought to focus, looking at Patrice.

Patrice's lips were tinged blue. She held Brett close as he cried pitifully. When Raymond wasn't looking, her lips curved into a faint, cold smile aimed at Loretta.

"I didn't do it," Loretta said, her voice shaking from the cold and her weakness, but still clear.

"You didn't?" Raymond shoved her back, not flinching when she stumbled and fell. "The housekeeper heard you order them out. The staff heard you shout, 'Get out of my son's room!' Are you saying everyone is lying? Or that Patty is crazy enough to risk Brett's health just to frame you?"

Loretta's knees hit a patch of sharp ice on the ground. The sharp pain brought back a sliver of clarity.

She looked at Raymond quietly, searching his rage-twisted face for any trace of the past, any hint of doubt.

But there was none.

All she saw was burning anger, and Brett—clutched in Patrice's arms, wearing Jody's jacket, crying his eyes out.

A bone-deep weariness and a sense of absurdity washed over her.

Defend herself?

Everyone's story was against her. Raymond's favoritism toward Patrice and Brett was carved in stone. In the face of that, anything she said would sound like a joke.

She lowered her eyes, no longer looking at anyone. Her voice was so soft it was almost lost in the wind. "If that's what you believe, fine. I have nothing to say."

That near-admission burned away the last of Raymond's patience.

"Fine. If you won't speak, maybe your body will remember the lesson."

Raymond took a step back, his gaze sharper than the swirling snow.

"Take off her coat. She stays here until she understands exactly what she's done."

His eyes swept over the terrified, silent household staff. He spoke slowly, each word deliberate, "No one gives her anything without my permission."

When Loretta came to, she had been sent back to her room.

The steady low-grade fever left her mind fuzzy.

Raymond sat by the bed, gently warming her cold hands with a heated towel—a rare tenderness in his movements.

"You're awake," he said, putting the towel away. His tone held something—maybe concern, maybe reproof. "You passed out after just a few hours in the snow? My wife needs to be tougher than that."

Loretta slowly pulled her hands back under the blanket.

Raymond stared at his now-empty hand, taken aback for a moment.

His voice hardened slightly when he spoke again. "It's the Poole Group's annual gala tonight. You need to attend with me. Jody's death has already caused fluctuations in the company's stock price. You have to make an appearance as Mrs. Poole and help steady things."

After a few seconds, Loretta said, "OK."

Her compliance was too readily given, and it sent a slow, cold curl of unease through Raymond's chest.

In the past, she would have burst into tears, her eyes red as she said, "You want me to socialize? Right after Jody's gone?" But now, when he looked at her, all he saw was emptiness in her eyes.

***

In the dressing room, Loretta sat still, letting the stylist work without moving at all.

Foundation covered her sickly complexion, and lip gloss gave her a false glow. The black gown hung on her thin frame, making her look like a silent shadow.

Leaning against the wall, Raymond watched her. Suddenly, the memory of her turning to smile at him on their wedding day six years ago flashed through his mind.

Back then, her eyes had sparkled with hope for their future.

Now, they were hollow, empty.

His gaze fell to her bare neck, and he frowned. "Where's 'Starlight'? The necklace I gave you for Jody's baby shower."

Loretta reacted slowly.

She looked up, meeting his eyes dully in the mirror. "Starlight?"

Raymond's jaw tightened at once.

He had designed that star-shaped necklace himself, set with blue diamonds. It was priceless.

He remembered clearly—when he gave it to her, she'd cried, holding Jody in her arms and whispering, "Jody, look. It's from Ray."

Once, when Jody had a fever, she'd clung to that necklace all night, praying, "Daddy's star will protect you, Jody."

Now she couldn't even remember the necklace?

"Loretta," he said, his voice growing heavy, "enough is enough. Jody's gone. How long are you going to keep this up?"

Just then, Patrice walked in, holding Brett's hand.

Brett had changed into a crisp little suit, but his eyes were red and swollen, obviously from crying.

"Ray..." Patrice said in a broken voice, "Brett said he wants to wear a star necklace for his performance onstage tonight... I heard Lori has a stunning one—"

"No."

Loretta's voice was final.

Her empty eyes suddenly sharpened, locking onto Raymond's. "That was a gift for Jody. Anything else, but not that."

Raymond let out a low, humorless laugh.

So there was something she couldn't forget.

He was still angry.

He walked over to her, leaned down, and spoke in a voice only she could hear, "Jody's gravesite is inside the planned zone for the Poole Group's new development. Relocation construction starts next month. Either Brett wears the necklace once, or Jody won't even have a final resting place."

Loretta froze.

"Well?" he said, straightening up, his tone casual as if discussing the weather. "What's it going to be? The necklace, or Jody's grave?"

The room was dead quiet.

After a long time, Loretta closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, whatever had been there before was gone—completely.

"I'll get it for you," Loretta said.

She clutched the necklace box so tightly her knuckles turned white as she handed it to Patrice. "Please keep it safe. I want it back as soon as the performance is over."

Patrice took the box, her eyes holding a look of provocation and triumph only Loretta could see.

"Of course, Lori. Don't worry," she said with a sweet smile. "I'm sure Brett will 'cherish' it."

Late that night, the gala ended.

The cold blue glint in a backstage trash bin caught Loretta's eye.

The necklace was snapped in two, blue diamonds scattered, the star-shaped pendant stomped out of shape.

Brett stood beside the bin, pouting, a Transformer toy in his arms. "Stars are boring. I want robots."

Patrice stroked his head, her smile innocent and cruel. "Oops, Brett pulled it off by accident. Well, it's not like you'll wear it again anyway, right, Lori?

"After all, Jody's dead. You wouldn't want the reminder."

A sharp slap cut through the quiet hallway.

Patrice covered her cheek, staring at Loretta in disbelief, tears already spilling over.

Almost at the same time, Raymond's voice rang out, sharp and angry. "Have you lost your mind, Loretta?"

He strode over and moved protectively in front of Patrice and Brett, his gaze cutting into Loretta. "Apologize."

Loretta looked from the broken necklace on the floor up to him, and a wave of bitter absurdity washed over her.

"He destroyed it. The necklace you gave for Jody's baby shower."

"So?" Raymond's voice was ice. "It's just a necklace. And you hit Patty for it? You're becoming more unreasonable by the day, Loretta."

He paused, his eyes shifting to Brett. "Since you have so much energy, you can help Brett with his Legos. He's been working on that castle. It's over three thousand pieces. You're not going to bed until it's finished tonight."

Loretta's body froze slightly.

The Lego castle was the one Jody had asked for before his last birthday.

She had bought it and hidden it in the wardrobe. She never got the chance to give it to him.

"Raymond," she said quietly, "you know that was for Jody."

"Yeah. So?" His lips curved without warmth. "This is your punishment, Loretta. You pay the price when you make a mistake."

As Patrice gently nudged Brett toward the nursery, she leaned close enough to whisper in Loretta's ear, "Be careful, Lori. Brett gets grumpy easily when he plays with Legos."

The nursery door closed.

Over three thousand Lego pieces were scattered across the floor, mixed in with Jody's old toys.

Loretta knelt on the carpet, sorting through them one piece at a time.

With every piece she picked up, she remembered the way Jody would tilt his little face and say, "Mommy, we can build it together on my birthday."

She bit back her tears, her hands trembling.

Nearby, Brett kicked at the blocks impatiently. "You're so slow. Daddy said it has to be done tonight!"

An hour later, he demanded water.

Loretta stood up to get it. As she turned, her foot caught on something.

A loud crash echoed through the room.

The nearly finished castle structure collapsed in an instant, pieces scattering everywhere.

After a stunned second, Brett burst into loud tears. "You did that on purpose! You ruined my castle!"

When Raymond rushed into the room, he saw the floor in chaos and Brett with red, tear-filled eyes.

Patrice picked Brett up, her voice shaking. "Ray... I'm sure Lori was just exhausted... She didn't mean to—"

"I didn't do anything," Loretta said, standing quietly amid the scattered pieces. Her voice was faint. "Brett pushed me."

"You're lying!" Brett yelled through his tears. "You tripped! You hate me! Because your kid is dead!"

"Brett!" Raymond's voice was sharp, but the verdict was already clear in his eyes.

He stared at Loretta and spoke slowly, each word deliberate, "You're jealous that Brett is still alive, aren't you?"

Loretta looked down at the Lego pieces spread across the floor. The castle—the one Jody had spent six months counting down to, the birthday gift he'd talked about nonstop—lay in ruins.

Suddenly, she let out a low, empty laugh.

"Bow," Raymond said.

"What?"

"I said, bow," he repeated, his voice cold as ice. "Pick up every piece. And say, 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been jealous.' Say it a hundred times."

Standing in the middle of the broken pieces, Loretta felt a chill wash through her.

It started snowing again, just like the day Jody died.

She looked at Raymond, then at Brett peeking out from behind him, sticking his tongue out at her, then at the undisguised triumph in Patrice's eyes.

Slowly, she bent forward into a deep, ninety-degree bow.

Right in front of her on the floor lay a small plastic dinosaur. Jody used to say, "This is the Dinosaur Knight. He protects you, Mommy."

"I, Loretta Wright," she began, her voice calm and almost robotic amid the scattered pieces, "am sorry. I shouldn't have been jealous..."

Each time she repeated the words, her throat felt like it was being cut.

On the thirty-seventh apology, her phone buzzed in her pocket.

As she picked up another piece, she unlocked the screen with a cold, stiff finger.

A message from Kendra stared back at her. "Ray has signed the divorce papers. You'll soon be out of this family for good."

She stared at those words for a long, long time.

Then she kept picking up pieces and apologizing.

Raymond watched her numb movements, her pale face, and her trembling hands. A faint, fleeting discomfort brushed against his heart.

But he soon pushed it away.

He told himself she deserved it.

Late that night, when Loretta was finally allowed back to her room, her fingers were cut in several places from the sharp plastic, the blood already dried.

The family doctor came to bandage them, frowning. "Mr. Poole, Mrs. Poole is very weak. She's running a persistent low fever. If this continues—"

"She won't die," Raymond said from the doorway, his tone detached.

After the doctor left, he walked in and stood by the bed.

"Lori," he said, his voice low. He started to reach for her bandaged hands, then stopped himself. "You shouldn't have lashed out. I know Brett can be difficult sometimes. But he doesn't have a father anymore."

Loretta leaned against the headboard, her gaze fixed on nothing in particular. She didn't respond.

Her silence irritated Raymond more than any argument could have.

He stood up, his tone regaining its usual coldness. "The Poole Group is hosting representatives from the British royal family tomorrow. You're coming with me. Dress appropriately. Wipe that gloomy look."

The welcome party was held in the most luxurious hotel owned by the Poole Group.

The ballroom was alive with the clink of glasses and guests mingling in expensive gowns and tuxedos. Raymond moved smoothly among the representatives of the British royal family, while Patrice stood beside him as the head of the Poole Group Charitable Foundation, looking radiant.

Loretta sat in a corner, quiet as a painting on the wall.

Soon, it was time for the evening's performance. Brett walked on stage for a piano solo.

The host announced with enthusiasm, "Now, let's welcome Brett Poole, son of Raymond Poole, to perform 'Für Elise' for us!"

Brett Poole... Raymond's son...

Loretta's hands clenched, her nails digging into her palms.

Under the spotlight, Brett was dressed in a smart little white suit. Around his neck was a brand new star-shaped necklace—almost identical to Starlight, the necklace Raymond had given for Jody's baby shower, only with larger, flashier diamonds.

He spoke into the microphone, his voice sweet and childish, "This is for Jody, my brother, even though he's no longer with us. I hope he's happy wherever he is."

The guests were visibly moved.

A flicker of softness passed through Raymond's eyes as he gently applauded.

Only Loretta saw it—as Brett bowed to the audience, he subtly flashed a victory sign in her direction.

After the performance, the wife of the royal representative, touched to tears, took Patrice's hand. "You've raised such a wonderful boy. So young, and so kind."

Patrice smiled modestly, "It's all thanks to Ray. He's taught Brett how to be a little gentleman... I've always told Brett that even though Jody is gone, he'll always be his brother, and part of our family."

How touching.

Loretta picked up a glass and gulped down the wine in one go.

The straight liquor burned her throat, but she felt nothing.

Later, guests began to mingle.

A group of rich ladies gathered around Loretta. They pretended to offer sympathy, but their words were laced with curiosity. "Mrs. Poole, we heard about what happened to Jody... Such a tragedy."

"But now with Ms. Lawson and Brett by Mr. Poole's side, things must be a little easier for you, right?"

"A bit of advice, dear? You're still young. Have another child. It's time to move on."

Loretta listened quietly. Then she said, her voice flat, "I will never have another child. And I will never 'move on.'"

The air around them went still.

Raymond's hand tightened around his glass, his gaze turning to ice.

The party ended as heavy rain began to fall.

After instructing the driver to take Patrice and Brett home, Raymond turned to Loretta, his eyes cold. "You spoke out of line. Get a cab and go back by yourself."

Without a word, she nodded and stepped out into the downpour, holding the hem of her gown.

She was soaked within seconds.

Her high heel caught in a puddle. She stumbled and fell, scraping her palm. Blood, mixed with rainwater, trickled down her hand.

Sitting in the car, Raymond watched her figure grow smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.

The rain was so heavy that it soon blurred everything.

Irritated, he lit a cigarette and said to the driver, "Slow down."

The car crept along, barely faster than a walking pace, but her figure still didn't reappear in the mirror.

"Turn around," Raymond finally said.

By the time the car circled back, Loretta had collapsed in the rain.

Her face was deathly pale, her gown plastered to her. The cut on her palm had turned white from the water, and her forehead was burning.

When Raymond lifted her and carried her back to the car, he was shocked by how little she weighed.

At the hospital, the doctor spoke gravely, "The patient has a fever of 40 degrees Celsius and is severely dehydrated. The wound on her hand is infected. Most concerning is that she is suffering from severe depression and PTSD. Her body is shutting down, Mr. Poole. You're killing her."

Raymond stood outside the hospital room, looking through the glass at the unconscious figure inside.

Loretta seemed so petite, so fragile. Like she might break at any moment.

Loretta was unconscious for three days.

When she finally woke, she saw Raymond sitting by the bed, faint shadows under his eyes.

Meeting her gaze, he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft, "You're awake.

"The doctor says you need long-term care." He held a glass of water to her lips. "About Jody... We're all grieving. But we have to move forward."

Instead of drinking, Loretta kept her eyes on him.

Her gaze was so clear, so foreign, that it sent a jolt of unease through him.

"Lori," he said suddenly, "once you're feeling better, we'll move Jody's grave to the best plot in the Poole family cemetery. We'll get him the finest headstone."

It was a privilege reserved for direct descendants of the Poole family.

Loretta had once pleaded with him for it, arguing that Jody was the Poole family's eldest grandson.

Now he was offering it freely.

But she only looked at him, dazed, and asked, "Is a grave ... that important?"

He froze.

"You used to care so much about it," he said, staring at her eyes.

"Did I?" A faint, hollow smile touched her lips. "I suppose I did ... once."

That familiar irritation rose in Raymond again.

"Loretta," he said, his voice lowering, "do you have to be like this with me? I've backed down. I've apologized. What else do you want?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she turned her head and stared out the window at the gray sky.

The day Loretta was discharged, Raymond took her to a children's charity art exhibition.

"It's the first event for the foundation started in Jody's name," he explained. "These are all paintings from kids in orphanages. Look around—if any piece speaks to you, we can sponsor the child."

For the first time in days, a flicker of life returned to Loretta's eyes.

In the exhibition hall, she stood before one painting for a long time.

It showed a small blue figure holding hands with a larger red figure, with crooked stars scattered in the background.

She was about to ask a staff member for more details when her eyes caught another painting displayed in the center of the hall.

The title read, "My New Daddy and My New Home."

It showed a man holding a little boy's hand in front of a castle.

A large golden star hung around the boy's neck.

The artist's name was Brett Poole.

The style, the colors, even the way the star was drawn—it was identical to the last painting Jody had made before he died.

Loretta went completely still, her blood running cold.

"Do you like it?" Raymond's voice came from behind her. "It's Brett's. His teacher says he has real talent."

Loretta turned slowly to face him. "Jody drew this."

He frowned. "What?"

"The composition, the colors, even the star... Jody painted this last month at kindergarten," she said word by word. "The original is in my study. You said you wanted to have it framed."

Raymond's expression shifted slightly.

Of course, he remembered—a week ago, Patrice had mentioned wanting to borrow the painting "for inspiration." And he had taken it from the study and given it to her.

"You're remembering it wrong," he said coldly. "This is Brett's original work."

"I can show you the original—" Loretta began.

"Loretta," he cut her off, "not now. There are media reporters everywhere today. Do you really want to embarrass Brett? To ruin the foundation's first event?"

She looked at him, and suddenly, it all made sense.

"You gave Patrice the painting."

After a tense silence, Raymond finally admitted it, "Yes. Brett needs to be known as the 'gifted child.' It helps promote the foundation. What do you want? I'll make it up to you."

"That was Jody's last painting," Loretta said.

"I'll buy the copyright," Raymond replied, his tone showing no remorse. "In the foundation's name."

Loretta let out a low laugh so bitter that her eyes welled up.

She turned, walked to the podium, and picked up the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, I need to report something. This painting, 'My New Daddy and My New Home,' is a direct copy of my late son Jody Poole's final artwork."

The exhibition hall erupted into chaos.

Camera flashes went off like lightning.

Patrice's face turned bloodless, tears shining in her eyes. "Lori, how could you accuse Brett like this? He's just a little boy... He missed Jody so much he tried to paint like him... That's all..."

Raymond snatched the microphone from Loretta's hand. "Loretta, you've lost your mind!"

He turned to address the crowd. "My wife has been struggling mentally since our son's death. She's been confused, mixing up memories. On behalf of the Poole Group, I apologize for any misunderstanding."

That very afternoon, every charity project Loretta had established in Jody's name was anonymously reported for "irregular bookkeeping" and "using charitable funds for tax evasion."

Regulators launched an investigation. All foundation activities were suspended.

Raymond threw the investigation notice in front of Loretta, his voice cold. "See what your little stunt cost you."

"You did this?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," he admitted flatly. "Loretta, let this be a lesson. Behave, and maybe I'll restart the foundation someday.

"Brett needs a clean reputation. And you..." He paused. "As Mrs. Poole, you need to learn when to step back."

Loretta stared at the notice for a long time.

Finally, she slowly tore it into pieces.

With his new reputation as a "child art prodigy," Brett became the face of children's charity work. Endorsement offers and contracts started pouring in.

Raymond poured all his resources into Brett and Patrice. Everyone now saw Brett—his "son"—as the future heir of the Poole Group.

That was, until the International Society for the Protection of Children's Art held a press conference, accusing Brett of plagiarizing the final paintings of a deceased leukemia patient for his recent "Starry Sky Series."

The evidence was undeniable. Even the hospital room number scribbled on the back of the original canvases matched.

Public outrage erupted overnight.

Patrice wept pitifully, clutching Raymond's sleeve. "Ray, I didn't know... I bought those paintings from a second-hand art stall. The seller said they were practice pieces from orphanage kids..."

"Who was the seller?" Raymond's face was livid.

"L-Lori introduced him to me," Patrice stammered, her voice shaking. "She said the paintings were fine, so I believed her... I just wanted to help the foundation..."

Raymond's gaze snapped toward Loretta.

Loretta stood quietly by the window, as if none of it concerned her.

"Loretta," Raymond's voice was dangerously cold, "you set up a child?"

"I didn't," she said flatly.

"Did you give Patty those paintings?"

"She stole them from my study," Loretta answered calmly. "Would you like to see the security footage? I believe I still have it."

Patrice's face went white.

But Raymond only gave a dismissive laugh. "The camera in the study stopped working last month. Didn't you know?"

Looking at him, Loretta understood.

"So," she said softly, "you knew Patrice would steal. You disabled the camera ahead of time."

"Enough!" Raymond snapped, cutting her off. "Loretta, you were jealous of the attention Brett received, so you used this cheap trick to ruin him? You sicken me."

He called an emergency meeting immediately.

Two hours later, a public statement was released. "Loretta Wright, head of the Poole Group Charitable Foundation, suffering from psychological imbalance, deliberately provided Brett Poole with plagiarized artwork, damaging his reputation. The Poole Group has removed Loretta Wright from all foundation positions effective immediately and reserves the right to pursue legal action."

Overnight, Loretta went from a grieving mother to a jealous, calculating villainess.

Photos of her and Jody flooded the internet with captions like, "With a mother like that, what chance did the kid have?" and "Was there more to Jody's death?"

Someone even leaked her postpartum depression records. In an instant, a wave of online hate crashed over her.

"Crazy bitch! Get out of the Poole Group!"

"No wonder your son died. Better off than having you as a mother!"

"Kill yourself! Go join your kid!"

The Poole Group building was surrounded by angry protestors. Eggs and paint splattered across the glass doors.

As Raymond escorted Patrice and Brett out through the underground garage, Loretta was being shoved by a crowd nearby.

Someone pushed her hard.

She stumbled and fell, her forehead hitting the concrete steps. Blood began to flow instantly—from the exact spot where Jody had been fatally wounded.

Raymond glanced back at her.

Through the car window, he saw her lying on the ground, blood pooling beneath her head as she stared blankly at the sky.

For a moment, he felt his heart squeeze tight.

But he just turned away and told the driver, "Go."

Loretta was taken to the hospital by passersby.

She received seven stitches.

The doctor reviewed her chart and sighed, "Ms. Wright, given your condition... You really can't take any more trauma."

When she left the hospital, a bandage was wrapped around her head, and she clutched the stark divorce papers in her hand.

The airport departure hall was vast and quiet.

Just then, her phone rang. The frantic voice of the Poole Group's vice president rang out. "Mrs. Poole, it's a disaster! Ms. Lawson tampered with the data in the actuarial plan we prepared for Excellence Group—the premier global consortium. The costs are now completely off track! The client is demanding answers now. This could ruin the entire company—"

She listened quietly. Then she blocked the number, removed her SIM card, and dropped it into the nearest trash can.

The final boarding call echoed through the terminal.

She picked up her single suitcase and walked resolutely toward security.

There was nothing left to hold her here.

Finally, she was leaving.