Divorced by His Fake Cancer,Now He’s Begging for My Son Back

Everyone in Harbor City knew the Henson family had one criterion for choosing a daughter-in-law: fertility.

With my naturally rounded frame and striking hip-to-waist ratio, Old Mrs. Henson spotted me like a winning lottery ticket and paid a fortune to bring me into the family.

Outsiders mocked me for marrying up on my curves alone. What they didn't know was that Piers Henson held me close every night, whispering that he adored every inch of my voluptuous figure.

Until New Year's Eve of our fifth year of marriage, when his assistant accidentally sent me an electronic invitation.

Groom: Piers Henson. Bride: Minnie Finch. Wedding date: the eighth day of the new year.

Half an hour later, he knelt in the snow-covered courtyard, hands trembling as he pushed a medical report toward me.

"Vera Harding, I have terminal stomach cancer... I can't drag you and our son down with me."

I suddenly remembered how he'd stood in the kitchen that morning, coughing while making me soup.

Then I looked at the medical report in front of me.

Fake.

After a long silence, I picked up the divorce agreement and signed it without hesitation.

I held my son in my arms and smiled.

"From now on, my son takes my surname—Harding. He won't be entered into the Henson family register. He'll have nothing to do with your family ever again."

——

The moment the words left my mouth, everyone around the table froze in shock.

Myra Henson slammed her cane against the floor, her voice heavy with authority.

"Piers, the Henson line is thin enough as it is. We finally have a grandson. I will not let the family line end with you."

I pulled my son tighter against my chest and said nothing.

She was warning me.

Piers dropped to his knees with a heavy thud, pushing the medical report forward.

"Grandmother, this came out of nowhere. I had no choice."

"I'm already in the late stages of stomach cancer. I don't have much time left. I can't burden Vera—the only thing I can give her now is her freedom."

He pressed his forehead hard against the floor, leaving a red mark on his skin.

His words sent the room into an uproar.

The relatives around the table immediately shifted their concern to Piers's health.

Myra rose to her feet, swaying slightly, and gestured for a servant to bring her the medical report.

She took it and flipped through the pages. With each one, her face grew paler.

"Is this real?"

Piers nodded.

"It came up in my full physical a few days ago. It's already late-stage. The doctor said I don't have long."

Then he turned to look at me.

"Vera, I'm sorry. I can't keep my promise to grow old with you."

The grief in his eyes looked almost real.

I let out a bitter laugh.

"Piers, you know the truth better than anyone. I've said what I'll say—I'll agree to the divorce, but I'm taking my son."

I turned to face Myra at the head of the table.

"That's my only condition."

Piers's brow furrowed. His lips parted as if to speak.

"Terry Harding isn't just my son. He's Henson blood. I can't agree to that."

Myra's expression hardened the moment she heard I wanted to take Terry. Displeasure etched itself across her face.

"Daughter-in-law, I don't want to hear such nonsense again."

My gaze turned cold.

"I've already said it. That's my only condition."

Piers stared at me, a flicker of surprise crossing his eyes.

He hadn't expected me not to make a scene.

He shuffled forward on his knees until he was beside me.

"Vera, even if we divorce, Terry is still your son. If he stays with the Hensons, he'll have access to the best education."

"Shouldn't a mother want what's best for her child?"

His argument was pathetic.

"Save your breath. Agree to my terms, and we go to the County Clerk's Office right now."

Piers straightened his back and lifted his head toward Myra.