After Our Son Died, He Went Mad with Regret

"Ms. Douglas, won't you reconsider?"

The doctor's voice came through the phone again. "Even though you're in the late stages of lung cancer, it's not completely hopeless. You're still so young. With aggressive treatment, there's still a chance. And I heard your child is still small..."

Harriet Douglas looked down at the cold little body in her arms. He wore his favorite astronaut jacket. His eyes were closed peacefully, as if he were asleep.

"I'm refusing treatment." Her voice was terrifyingly calm. "Also, I want to sign an organ donation agreement."

"But your child..."

"My child doesn't need a mother anymore." Harriet interrupted softly, her fingers brushing over her son's cold forehead. "He'll never need one again."

She hung up and tossed her phone onto the bench in the crematorium waiting room, finally allowing herself to fall apart.

She clutched that tiny body tightly, her shoulders shaking violently, but no sound escaped her lips—only scalding tears that soaked into her child's cold hair.

She remembered Theo Stuart's final moments. Those bright, sparkling eyes had already lost their light as he used his last bit of strength to whisper, "Mommy, when's Daddy coming? I miss Daddy..."

Harriet's heart ached so badly she could barely breathe.

With trembling hands, she picked up her phone again and dialed the number she knew by heart—one that rarely answered.

The phone rang for a long time before someone picked up.

"What is it?" Julian Stuart's voice was ice-cold.

Harriet took a deep breath, struggling to suppress the overwhelming grief, her voice choking. "Julian, Theo... he..."

"Harriet, I don't have time for this." Julian cut her off impatiently.

A soft, sweet voice came through the line. "Julian, Zane says he wants you to hold him. What should we play next?"

"Daddy, hold me!"

It was Kenna Douglas's voice. Her sister. Julian's first love.

Harriet's breath caught. Only then did she notice the cheerful laughter in the background.

They were at an amusement park.

"You're with Kenna?" Harriet asked.

Julian's cold voice rang out. "So what? What right do you have to question me?"

Harriet's voice trembled. "Today is Theo's birthday. Did you know that?"

"Enough, Harriet. Don't think I don't know what you're trying to pull. Sending Theo to my office, using a child to guilt-trip me—it's pathetic. If there's a next time, we're getting divorced."

Divorce.

The word stabbed into Harriet's heart like a blade.

So that's what happened this afternoon. Theo had gone to find his father.

This child—suffering from severe aplastic anemia, gasping for breath after just a few steps—had crossed half the city alone and died on the way to see his father.

Harriet held the small, stiffening body tighter, her heart aching so badly she could barely breathe.

"Julian." Her voice suddenly turned deathly calm. "Let's get divorced. Come home tonight and sign the papers."

Without waiting for a response, she hung up.

Her phone slipped from her hand. Harriet pressed her face against her son's already rigid cheek, tears flooding out once more. "I'm sorry, Theo... Mommy was wrong. From the very beginning, I was wrong."

Five years ago, it had been an arranged marriage. She'd married him with years of secret admiration in her heart, but she knew—he didn't love her.

She thought if she tried hard enough, she could change things. But before she could even warm Julian's heart, his first love—Kenna, who'd been abroad—returned with her two-year-old son, Zane.

From that moment on, Julian only had eyes for that mother and son, leaving his own wife and child behind again and again.

When her Theo was born, Julian hadn't even come to the hospital.

All these years, he'd never cared about his frail, sickly son.

But Theo had always longed for his father's love.

Harriet wiped her tears and gently smoothed Theo's bangs.

For five years, she'd worked to earn money while taking Theo from hospital to hospital.

The Stuart family was wealthy, but Julian had never given her a cent for Theo's treatment.

Today, when she'd finally scraped together enough money for the transplant surgery, Theo had hugged her happily and said, "Mommy, after the surgery, will Daddy... like me when I'm healthy?"

In that moment, Harriet's heart had shattered.

But now, none of it mattered.

A crematorium staff member approached. "Ms. Douglas, it's time."

Harriet's whole body trembled. She held her child tighter, then slowly, bit by bit, released her grip.

One last time, she lowered her head and kissed her son's cold forehead.

Watching as Theo was taken from her, placed on a white-sheeted gurney, and wheeled into the incinerator, Harriet's tears wouldn't stop.

After a long while, staring out at the gray, overcast sky, she whispered, "Theo, wait for me. Mommy will come be with you soon."

That evening, when Harriet pushed open the door, her entire body was drenched from the rain.

She stood in the entryway and looked up, seeing the figure seated on the sofa.

Julian sat with his legs crossed. Hearing the door open, he glanced over, his gaze cold as ice.

"Putting on another show?" He watched her dripping wet form walk in, his thin lips parting, voice dripping with mockery.

Harriet didn't respond. She numbly removed her coat.

For five years, everything she did in his eyes was an act.

Playing the good wife, the devoted mother, the victim.

Just like back then.

Julian's grandfather, Owen Stuart, had been gravely ill and begged her to marry Julian.

Owen had funded her education—a debt of gratitude she couldn't refuse.

Besides, she'd secretly liked Julian for years.

She'd already been accepted to Cambridge but gave it up without hesitation—for gratitude, and for that foolish hope.

Only later did she learn Julian already loved someone else. Her sister, Kenna.

He'd never wanted to marry her.

Just as she was considering backing out, an accident happened.

She'd been drugged. When she woke, she was in Julian's bed, staring into his utterly disgusted eyes.

"I didn't..." Her voice was hoarse. "I was a victim too..."

"Harriet, you disgust me." Every word from Julian was like an icicle. "Using such despicable tactics—you'd actually stoop that low."

He'd planned to pay her off and be done with it. But a month later, she was pregnant.

Owen forced Julian to marry her.

After the marriage, Julian didn't even bother pretending.

Cold toward her, indifferent to the unborn child.

The child...

Thinking of Theo, Harriet's heart ached even more.

For Theo's sake, she'd held off on divorce.

She'd kept hoping that maybe one day, Julian would turn around and look at this family, at this child who shared his blood.

But until Theo died, he never once felt a father's love.

Harriet's chest clenched with searing pain. In her ears, she seemed to hear Theo's voice again:

"Mommy, is it because of me... that Daddy won't come home?"

"If I hadn't been born, would Daddy still hate you?"

"Mommy, I'm leaving... I won't bother Daddy anymore... you have to be happy..."

Tears mixed with rainwater streamed down her face.

If she'd taken Theo and left earlier, would everything have been different...

"Enough." Julian interrupted her silence impatiently. "Harriet, you called me back just to watch you put on a show? That pathetic look only makes me hate you more."

Harriet looked up at him.

She pulled a document from her bag and placed it on the coffee table. "Let's get divorced."

Julian froze, then laughed mockingly. "This again?"

He picked up the document and flipped through it casually, but his expression gradually changed.

The agreement was simple. Harriet wanted nothing.

No division of assets, no alimony, nothing from the Stuart family.

"You want nothing?" He looked up, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Just this house?"

"Yes." Harriet's voice was firm.

Julian smiled. "Harriet, playing hard to get, huh? You know how much this house is worth? Smarter than asking for money outright."

"Don't worry." Harriet met his gaze, speaking each word clearly. "When I die, the house will go back to you."

Julian's eyes narrowed, then darkened with deeper scorn. "Addicted to acting? Even using death as leverage now."

Harriet didn't explain.

She looked around. Theo's traces were everywhere here.

She wanted to spend her final days in this place.

"Pen." She held out her hand, palm up, fingers still trembling slightly.

Julian stared at her for a moment, then pulled a fountain pen from his pocket.

Without a word, Harriet took the pen, picked up the document, flipped to the last page, and—right in front of him—signed her name on the wife's signature line.

She signed cleanly, decisively. Without looking at him again, she turned and walked toward the stairs. "See you in court tomorrow."