After My Son Died, I Set My Husband Free1
My son, Matthew Wilson, died of a heart attack despite all efforts to save him. With his last breath, he longed to see his father.
I called his father, Daniel Wilson, crying and begging him to come to the hospital immediately.
Daniel's tone was impatient.
"Stop bothering me, I have something urgent tonight."
I watched as Matthew, eyes glued to the door, waited anxiously. Desperate, I called Daniel three more times.
He simply turned off his phone. At 2 AM, Matthew passed away with regret.
That night, I knelt beside Matthew's lifeless body, sleepless until dawn.
The next day, a news alert popped up on my phone.
"Wilson Group CEO splurges to throw a lavish birthday party for his first love, Isabella Davis."
My hands trembled as I texted Daniel.
[Was your urgent matter last night celebrating Isabella's birthday?]
As the staff handed Matthew's urn to me, my phone vibrated with a message from Daniel. His words were tender yet icy.
[I promised her I'd be there. I couldn't break my word.]
***
"Let's get a divorce."
Daniel was my dream man, leaving a significant mark on my youth.
In my freshman year, I had an intense crush on him. By my sophomore year, I was lucky enough to be chosen by Daniel's grandfather, James Wilson, to learn the ways of high society. In my junior year, Daniel and I had a flash wedding, and by the time I graduated, I was already pregnant with his child.
To outsiders, I was incredibly fortunate.
But no one knew that because Daniel believed I had used underhanded means to get pregnant, he scarcely came home in the five years of our marriage.
To avoid affecting his work, I only called him when it was absolutely necessary.
When Matthew had a high fever and wanted to see his father, I patiently comforted him. When I had stomach surgery, I went alone. Even when I was in labor, Daniel didn't show up.
I thought that if I was considerate enough, he would eventually see my sincerity.
But little did I know that my humble submission only made him more brazen in seeking out Isabella.
"Ms. Miller, here is your son Matthew's urn."
The staff handed me the urn.
I carefully wrapped it in layers of black cloth and held it close to my chest as I hailed a cab to return home and pack up Matthew's clothes.
As soon as I walked in, I saw two familiar figures sitting intimately on the sofa.
"Daniel, your cooking is so delicious."