Another way to look at it: he'd killed our baby.
I choked down the murderous fury clawing up my throat and typed: "You made him pressure his wife into an abortion. Aren't you afraid of karma?"
Her reply was instantaneous: "Karma? HAHAHA please. There's no such thing as karma."
"As long as he belongs to me and only me—"
"I'd take a lightning strike and call it worth it."
"Anyway, gotta go! We're off to Hawaii for some quality couple time. Bye~ See you in the next video!"
She didn't respond again.
But I had already made a decision. A big one.
A few days later.
We were eating dinner when Victor Henson and Beryl Henson asked where Corey had gone. They hadn't seen him in days.
I hesitated. "Dad, Mom... Corey's been really busy with work."
They looked skeptical but accepted it.
A week later, they were in a car accident.
Beryl died on impact.
Victor was critically injured. The doctors managed to save him, but when he learned his wife was gone—
He wept until he passed out. Then woke and wept again. Three times he lost consciousness from the grief.
I stayed at the hospital for two weeks, taking care of him.
The question he asked most often: "Where's my son?"
I never gave him a straight answer.
Until today.
I had just finished cleaning his bedpan and was walking back into the room when—
Thud.
He dropped to his knees.
"Ann." His voice cracked. "Ever since you married into this family, I've treated you like my own daughter."
He looked up at me, eyes red and swollen, desperation carved into every line of his face.
"Please. Please tell me—what happened to my son? Why won't his phone connect when I call?"
"Ask his colleagues."
"They all said he quit ages ago."
"What on earth happened between you two?"
I hurried to help my father-in-law up from the floor.
There was no hiding it anymore.
I let out a long sigh. "Dad... Corey, he... had cancer. He passed away. The body was cremated, and his ashes were scattered at sea—just like he wanted."
"Wh... what?"
Victor's face went slack with shock.
I lifted a hand to wipe my tears, choking out the rest of the story between sobs.
It had been over two weeks ago, I told him.
Corey had been diagnosed with late-stage liver cancer.
He hadn't wanted his family to suffer.
So he'd chosen to bear it alone, in silence.
"Why didn't he tell us sooner?"
"Corey said... he wanted to keep it from you as long as he could."
"You... you two..."