If I had any life left, I would trade it for another pill without hesitation.

Unfortunately, I only had four days left to live, not even enough to exchange for the cheapest item the System offered.

Jack's grip was strong. I couldn't breathe at all in his hands, and my vision gradually darkened.

When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital bed.

"You're faking it, aren't you?" Jack, who had caused me to pass out, sneered. "You're only 26, not 86."

I was too tired to argue with him anymore.

Now, I didn't even have the strength to take a knife and carve Vicky's face into a mess.

"I'm going to see Emma," I said.

I struggled to get up, but before I could steady myself, Jack pushed me back down.

"She's out of danger now," he said, glancing at me sideways. "I won't let you see her until you get the medicine. She doesn't need such an irresponsible mother anyway."

In his view, our daughter was still suffering from illness entirely because of me.

Because I wasn't willing to "offer myself" to beg Ethan for medicine.

As for him giving the medicine to Vicky, that was him pursuing his stubborn dream, and we, mother and daughter, should naturally step aside for it.

I only now realized how selfish he was at his core, but it was too late.

"There was only one pill," I explained, my lungs aching.

Even just breathing felt like my airways and lungs were being scorched by fire. I never imagined that when life came to an end, it would be so unbearable.

"Impossible," Jack said.

His eyes raked across my face like hooks.

In the past, he could tell where I was feeling unwell just by looking at my face, and he would eagerly bring me medicine and take care of me.

But now he couldn't even see that I was dying.

"Did Ethan get tired of you after sleeping with you once?" he said mockingly. "Well, that makes sense. After all, you're just a woman who's given birth. You're probably loose down there. Why don't you take a pill first to tighten things up a bit?"

So, in his eyes, I had long been worthless.

Someone secretly recorded my argument with Jack.

When the video was posted online, it caused an uproar.

Since it involved Ethan, his fans were particularly agitated, wishing they could reach through the internet and tear me apart.

He was handsome, worth billions, and the epitome of eligible bachelors.

And I was a married woman with a child, an "old hag" in their eyes. Even thinking about Ethan was a sin.

Watching the video, I realized how quickly I had aged.

It had only been three days, but my skin was as saggy as a 50-year-old's, with a streak of white hair at my temples.

Because I looked old and haggard, internet users called me "Witch," cursing that someone as shameless as me, who wanted to cheat, deserved to die a horrible death.

I didn't know what would qualify as a horrible death.

Actually, I was already in a lot of pain. Death would be a relief for me.

My best friend felt sorry for me and asked if I needed help dealing with it.

She had connections and could help me delete the negative news for a price.

I shook my head and turned it down.

For someone with only three days left to live, any curse was meaningless. I wasn't afraid of death, so why would I be afraid of their judgments?

It's better to save the money for Emma's treatment.

Over the years, I had helped Jack build his career, accumulating a considerable fortune. I thought we could live without worries, but when Emma fell ill, I realized this money wasn't nearly enough.

Money was the foundation of her survival.

"Mrs. Connor, are you there?" a nurse found me while I was vomiting blood in the bathroom.

"Emma says she wants to see her mom and dad. Please hurry."

Before I could feel happy, I suddenly understood her implied meaning.

When I arrived at the ward, my daughter was lying alone in bed.

Jack, who should have been by her side taking good care of her, was nowhere to be seen.

He wouldn't let me see our daughter, but he didn't even care about her at all!

"Mom, is someone bullying you?" Emma asked, blinking her eyes. Her thin fingers rested in my palm, so light I could barely feel their weight.

"Of course not... don't be silly," I said, fighting back tears as I gently brushed her forehead.

Her hair, shaved off earlier, had started to grow back. It felt prickly, like a puppy's coarse fur.

I remembered convincing her to shave her head, promising that her hair would grow back thicker and shinier. Sadly, I wouldn't be around to see it.

"But the nurse said..." Emma lowered her eyes. "She said I'm the daughter of a homewrecker."

She was too young to understand what "homewrecker" meant.

But she could sense the intentional malice in others' words.

The nurse who used to be so kind to her had suddenly changed. Emma didn't know what she'd done wrong, only guessing that someone might be mistreating me.

"It's okay, sweetie. Let's get some sleep, and everything will be better," I said soothingly, my voice too hoarse to sing a lullaby.

My Emma had always been obedient. When I said it was time to sleep, she'd pull up her covers and close her eyes.

But today, she wouldn't listen.

Not only did she keep her eyes open, but she started coughing up blood.

The room's medical equipment erupted in alarms.

I was paralyzed with fear. As I was dragged out of the room, my fingers wouldn't stop shaking, and my legs were too weak to stand.

"Mrs. Connor, you've used up all your prepaid funds," the nurse said, handing me a credit card terminal. "The emergency treatment and subsequent ICU costs will be $10,000."

I swiped my card with trembling hands, only to see "INSUFFICIENT FUNDS" glaring back at me.

This card should have had $50,000 in it!

As I was checking if someone had stolen from my account, a pop-up news article gave me the answer.

In the screen, Jack and Vicky were cuddling sweetly, a picture-perfect couple. The reporter gushed about his devotion to her.

It turned out Vicky's acting career wasn't going well. No one would cast her, saying with her looks she could only be an extra.

Jack, in a grand gesture of love, had spent $6 million – his entire fortune – to produce a movie for her.

Internet users were swooning, flooding the comments section with wishes for Vicky's stardom and envying her for having someone willing to bankroll her dreams.

What a beautiful love story.

While our daughter was critically ill, Jack had found time to hire directors and crew for Vicky, even emptying the company's working capital to invest in her.

He'd forgotten he had a daughter in the hospital who needed money to stay alive.

I had to calm down. While borrowing money from everyone I knew, I kept calling Jack.

Finally, after an hour, he picked up.

On the other end, Vicky's laughter rang out like silver bells.

"Trying to lecture me about money?" Jack said, clearly knowing why I was calling. He was dismissive. "You don't understand anything. Vicky's such a great actress, and with the script I wrote specifically for her, she's going to be a superstar!

"I invest $6 million now, it'll bring in hundreds of millions later. If you're so jealous, why don't you ask Ethan to invest in a movie for you? Then we'll see whose movie the audience prefers!"

He was slurring his words, drunk, but couldn't hide his excitement.

He went on and on about how brilliant his script was, how beautiful Vicky's face was, how her acting could impress world-class directors.

"Enough!" I interrupted, unable to take it anymore. "Do you realize Emma is in emergency care and needs $10,000? We're out of money! She's dying!"