I shoved Christina violently. "What do you think you're doing?!"

Christina fell to the floor. The bowl in her hands smashed against the floor with a sharp crash.

I grabbed Logan immediately and froze in horror. His small face was flushed and swollen, his breathing already labored.

The broken bowl still held half a serving of egg custard.

Logan was allergic to eggs!

I didn't have time to think. I lunged for the medicine cabinet. But Logan's usual medicines, even his cardiac injections, had all been replaced with Allen's fish oil capsules.

Rage shook me. I didn't have a second to spare for Christina, who sat pitifully on the floor. Clutching my son, I bolted for the door.

But I hadn't even taken a step before crashing into a solid chest.

"What's all this commotion so early in the morning?"

Bryson's face was dark with displeasure.

Before I could reply, Christina began wailing.

"Bryson, it's Allen's first birthday today! I just wanted Logan to share some of the good luck, so I fed him a little egg custard… Then Selene said I was dirty, threw the bowl, and hit me, telling me to leave!"

I swayed on my feet, furious, mouth opening to defend myself.

The next instant, a heavy slap landed squarely across my face.

Pain exploded on my right cheek. My ears rang.

Through gritted teeth, Bryson's voice cut like ice, "Selene, how could you be so cruel?!"

I cradled Logan protectively as we fell to the floor.

My hand pressed against the shattered porcelain, sending searing pain up my arm.

Bryson hurried to lift Christina. "Your wrists are all red. I'll take you to the hospital!"

He carried her off, turning to leave.

Logan's face was red and tight with struggle. I grabbed Bryson's leg. "Take me and Logan to the hospital first! We need medicine, otherwise Logan will die!"

My bloody palms stained his trousers, yet he didn't even glance down.

With a dismissive kick, he shoved me aside.

"Just give Logan some anti-allergy medicine. This afternoon, I'll accompany Christina and her child for a family portrait. You should reflect on yourself!"

With that, he left in haste with Christina.

Logan's breathing grew more labored. I had no choice. I forced myself upright, clutching him, and ran toward the hospital.

When we arrived, the doctor unleashed a torrent of scolding, "You parents are unbelievably careless! A little longer and who knows if the child would have survived!"

I kept thanking him, my face still swollen and throbbing.

Seeing my pitiful state, the doctor sighed and said no more.

I wiped my tears and stayed by Logan's side through the IV.

At this point, I could no longer rely on Bryson.

Tickets to Odell City, plus food and lodging, would cost roughly 1,000 dollars. Fortunately, I'd long supplemented our household income by selling handmade crafts. The savings plus current sales were just enough.

Looking at Logan, already covered in tiny needle marks despite it being barely morning, I made a firm decision. In this second life, I would do whatever it took to save my son!

That afternoon, after finishing the IV, I carried Logan to the mall.

Just as I placed a pair of knitted gloves on the counter, the reflection in the glass caught my eye—Christina.

Her slight scratches had been carefully disinfected with iodine. She wore a high-quality wool coat, standing at the entrance of the photo studio. Neither Bryson nor the child was with her.

Her eyes darkened as she spotted the items on my counter.

She lunged forward, snatching the gloves. "Selene! How dare you steal things from home to sell! And make this much money!"

I froze. "What are you talking about?"

Christina smiled triumphantly and pulled a plastic bag from her handbag. "This is the evidence!"

I recognized the plastic bag at a glance. It was the one I'd set aside for Logan's medical expenses.

My eyes stung with tears as I lunged for it. "Who said you could take my money?! Christina, give it back!"

I grabbed her hair with all my strength, desperate to reclaim it. She, however, clenched the money like it belonged to her.

By now, more shoppers had gathered, forming a tight circle. That's when Bryson appeared, carrying Christina's child.

"Selene, what do you think you're doing?!"

The next second, someone yanked Christina and me apart.

I lost my balance and slammed the back of my head against the counter.

A cacophony of glass shattering erupted—countless shards slashed across my face.

It felt as if my heart had been ripped open, blood gushing, pain sharp and unrelenting. The only relief was that I had placed Logan safely in the nearby cradle just moments before.

Bryson helped Christina to her feet, his gaze cold as he lowered his voice slightly.

"Have you gone completely mad?!"

I let out a bitter laugh, tears suddenly spilling down my cheeks.

No matter what I said, Bryson wouldn't believe a single word. So why argue?

If the money was gone, I'd sell off my family heirloom. I would not allow Logan to suffer any longer.

I wiped my tears fiercely and looked at Bryson.

"Check the accounts for yourself. After all these years of marriage, see how much of your money I've spent."

In the past, I'd worried about him working hard, carefully giving him and Logan the best I could. I probably spent less than 100 dollars a year on myself.

Bryson paused, his expression softening slightly. He took two steps forward, then stopped, not pursuing me further.

For the next two days, I focused solely on earning money through my crafts, paying no attention to whether Bryson returned home.

That night, as I went to bed, I noticed something under my pillow.

By the moonlight, I saw that Bryson had left two envelopes. One contained a tattered collection of bills totaling 1,000 dollars, the other, a few new notes, totaling 1,000 dollars.

I didn't return them. Every penny was now a hope for Logan to grow up healthy.

But just as I was about to rest, the door to the guest bedroom burst open with a kick.

I looked up to see Bryson, eyes blazing with anger.

"Selene! Didn't you promise me a divorce? Do you have to push Christina to the brink to get your way?!"

I didn't understand what he was saying at first.

Then Christina approached, covered in red paint, looking utterly pitiful. Tears streaked her face as she sobbed, "Bryson, I believe Selene didn't spread the rumors on purpose. Please don't blame her…"

Bryson's fury intensified. He yanked me in front of Christina, teeth gritted.

"Kneel and apologize to Christina right now. Then make it clear that the one who 'stole' someone else's husband is you, not her!"

His grip on my wrist sent pain shooting through my arm, but all I felt was absurd irony.

Bryson, usually so calm and shrewd, lost all clarity when it came to her.

I yanked my hand free. "Why should I?"

Her reputation was important, but so was mine.

My refusal ignited a rage in Bryson I had never seen before.

I thought he might simply force me to confess, but instead, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me into the confinement room.

"Until you've reflected on your actions, you'll stay here!"

Without another word, he left.

Inside the confinement room, I wrapped Logan in my arms and watched the clock tick.

Not long after, the iron door creaked. Christina entered, carrying a thermos.

"Bryson feels a little sorry for you and told me to bring you some soup… to warm you up."

The white foam floating on the soup instantly reminded me of the last life—of being drugged—and my instincts screamed to resist.

Without giving me a chance, Christina tilted the thermos toward my mouth. When I struggled, refusing to drink, she deliberately angled it more sharply.

The scalding soup threatened to spill onto Logan's swaddled form. Panic surged through me, and before I could react, she pried open my jaw and forced several mouthfuls down.

From behind, she pulled out a small bottle of pills, crushed two, and stuffed them into Logan's mouth.

My eyes went white with rage. "Christina! What did you feed my son?!"

Logan's soft coos immediately turned into hoarse wails, then grew faint.

"Bryson gave them to me to teach you a lesson. As for your son… if he doesn't wake in two hours, he's done for."

In this life, I had already agreed to divorce Bryson. Christina wasn't dead. Bryson wouldn't allow harm to come this far.

I tried to force the pills back up through my throat. "Christina, if you want to fight, fight me!"

But the drugs acted quickly. My limbs went weak, and she seized the opportunity to shove a group of drunken vagrants inside.

"Selene, tomorrow, everyone will know you're the one who cheated, and then Bryson can rightfully marry me! Even divorced, you still hold him back. You and your bastard child deserve to die!"

Men lunged at me, lecherous eyes flashing, and the iron bed clanged under the impact.

I bit my tongue, using the metallic taste to cling to my last shreds of reason.

Turning my head, I saw Christina pinching Logan's tiny fingers into the iron bars.

Logan screamed, struggling for air. My nerves snapped.

I shoved the drunk men aside and grabbed her by the throat. "Give me the antidote!"

At the standoff's peak, the door to the confinement room suddenly burst open. Bryson kicked it wide, stepping in without hesitation.

He shoved me aside with a single kick. Christina collapsed against him, sobbing.

"Bryson, she locked me up and tried to strangle me to cover it up!"

Bryson's gaze was a blade.

"Selene, you disgust me!"

I stared at him in disbelief, shivering as if plunged into an ice cellar.

He knew her schemes inside and out, every flaw was exposed—yet, like in my previous life, he had stood by her.

Seeing Logan foam at the mouth, my remaining sanity shattered.

Tears streaming, I fell to my knees.

"Please… save our child, Bryson. I beg you."

He crouched in front of me, holding a confession form.

"Sign it. Apologize publicly. The broadcast microphone is on."

Moments later, distorted voices echoed across the entire town.

"I am Selene Harper. I admit that out of jealousy, I spread rumors, falsely accusing Christina Floyd of infidelity…"

When I finished, Bryson nodded faintly and extended his hand to Christina.

"That's enough. The antidote."

I fed Logan the cure. Just as I was about to leave, Bryson spoke again.

"Take Logan to the hospital for a couple of days. Your luggage is outside. I'll make sure he has the best doctors…"

I didn't respond. I brushed past his shoulder, clutching Logan and lifting our luggage.

The last tear slid down my cheek.

'Goodbye, Bryson. May our paths never, ever cross again.'

The train whistle pierced the sky. I held Logan tight as we boarded the train to Odell City.