I was burning with fever when Andrew called, asking me to pick up Matthew from the train station. "Something urgent came up," he says.

Something urgent? My heart pounded, part fear, part anger. What could be more urgent than our son?

But I didn't argue. I'm already so used to it, so... what for? No choice, I hurried to the station.

When I got there, my fevered brain raced with worries. There were flashing lights of police cars and ambulances near the station, so how could I not panic?

Heart pounding, I searched for my son until I saw him, lying so still on the ground.

"Matthew!" I screamed, clutching his bloody body.

My poor baby, gone in a heartbeat.

Just then, my phone buzzed. Claire, Andrew's first love, posted a picture of them, smiling— happy.

How dare they?

Shaking, I screencapped it and sent it to my shameless husband. [Is this why you left Matthew by himself?]

I messaged, but the jerk didn't reply. Jackass!

Days passed, and I had Matthew's body cremated.

I held his burial alone. Why? Because my stupid husband was still probably in his mistress' bed.

Sure enough, the jerk texted: [Matthew's not a baby anymore, Emily. He can manage himself. Claire needs me.]

[Let's divorce then.] I sent back, unregretful. Cheers to closing thirty horrible years of my life!

Andrew used to be my world. We grew up together, went to school together. Everyone knew I followed him like a shadow. I supported him in everything, even when he was with Claire.

When did I start loving him? Maybe it was always there.

You know, a slow burn that turned into a fierce flame. After Claire left, I confessed, and long story short, we married, had Matthew, and for a while, I thought it was enough.

But I was wrong. Turns out I am just the second-best: someone conveniently close around but never someone he wants to have around.

Still, maybe it was my fault. I should've fled right away back then, but this dumb person chose to be even more dumber.

That was then, though. I've learned my lesson. Sadly, I had to learn it in the most tragic way.

I knelt at my son's grave, tears long dried. I only entrusted him with his father once, and look at what happened. I couldn't even imagine how lonely and scared Matthew must have been when he died.

He was so young, and he deserved so much more.

When I stood up, I was determined to move forward.

Then I saw them, Andrew and Claire, approaching. Claire held an urn in her hand, her face haggard.

What show is this now?

Surprisingly, Andrew's expression was nothing but pity and tenderness. I wanted to laugh, 'cause seriously. Since when did this jerk have a heart?

But, well. I almost forgot. It's Claire, and only Claire can bring out decency in him.

“Babe, this cemetery is so nice! It's so full of flowers! Milo should like it, right?” I heard Claire say, her voice soft, almost fragile.

Milo... Wasn't that her dog?

Andrew's face twisted in distress. He was about to speak, but he saw me, and his eyes dimmed. It was as if I would forever be an annoyance to him, a fly buzzing in his perfect little world.

“Emily, you’re never going to stop, are you? First, you talk about divorce, and now you’re following me here. Don't you have anything better to do?”

Not gonna lie, his words made my blood boil.

Did he really think I had time to follow him around and watch him fawn over that woman and her damn dog?

Andrew walked up, frowning with displeasure. Will I give him attention? Of course not.

“Get lost,” I said coldly, each word a blade.

This man had cost me everything, so what's there left to say?

"Emily, Milo died. I was a mess, so I asked Andrew to stay with me. Please don’t be mad," Claire explained, her voice soft yet firm.

Damn. I fancy how talented this girl is sometimes. I mean, look at that!

Her tone was sweet, but her eyes? Pure challenge!

She's practically flaunting that my husband's with her now.

"Wow, lucky you," I said flatly, not giving anything away. "Must be nice to have such a man."

Andrew frowned. "Emily, come on. Milo's death has been hard on Claire, and you're still throwing shade?"

And there goes the knight in shining armor. Funny.

I looked at Andrew, lost for words. I find his protectiveness amusing the most. How many personalities does he have?

Anyway, I sneered and walked past them both.

For the first time, I walked away calmly— no tears, no drama. Two seconds later, there he was, trailing me like a lost puppy.

"Is this about me not bringing Matthew home? Why are you still mad? You're being petty," he hissed.

Always my fault, eh? He screwed up, but somehow, I was the wrong one.

"Yep, all my fault," I said, not even looking at him.

"Listen..." He started, and I rolled my eyes.

Here goes the drama again.

"Milo’s death hit Claire hard, so I didn’t want her to be alone. Is Matthew mad? Don't worry, I’ll make it up to him. He's sweet, so he'll forgive me."

If he’d cared about us at all, he’d know what happened to his own son by now.

But no, Claire was his priority now.

"You'll make it up to him? Well, news flash! You’ve run out of chances," I said, walking away again.

But he grabbed my arm, sounding surprisingly desperate. "Come on! I’ll pick up Matthew every day if that's what you want. Just don’t be mad."

Andrew, begging for the first time, almost made me laugh. I could have forgiven him if Matthew’s accident hadn’t happened.

But now? No way.

"Want to be with Claire? Go be with Claire. Sign the divorce papers, and stop pestering me," I said, shaking off his hand and walking away for good.

As I left, I could feel his eyes on my back.

"Tricia, get me the best toy you can find. Something fancy, so maybe a transformer! Send it home to my son. Maybe he can help calm his mom down," I heard him ordered.

Did he think he could buy me with that?

Oh, how delusional.

I was almost at the cemetery gate when my phone rang. It was the cemetery manager.

"Miss Emily, someone is digging up your son's grave!"

Those words hit me like a wrecking ball, freezing me in place. My heart pounded in my chest.

Is this really happening?

What kind of person could be so horrible to disturb someone's resting place?

Mad, I spun around and sprinted towards Matthew's grave, everything else forgotten.

Matthew was always so sunny, so cheerful. He loved daisies because he knew they were my favorite. In fact, he promised to fill our backyard with them someday, just to keep me smiling.

He was a thoughtful kid, but he never got the chance to fulfill that dream, so I planted daisies on his grave instead. No tombstone, just a sea of daisies.

He would love them, for sure. And they were my way of keeping his promise alive.

When I got there, I saw Claire. She had already placed an urn into Matthew's grave, with two guards filling it back in.

It was a punch to the gut, of course.

The daisies I'd lovingly planted were torn up and scattered around like they meant nothing. And Matthew's urn? Tossed aside like trash.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

I lunged at them, shoving the bodyguards away.

"Who gave you the right to dig this grave?!"

Claire shrank into Andrew's arms, playing the victim.

"Why not? There was no tombstone, and it looked abandoned. I thought Milo could rest here. I even contacted the manager and offered compensation. It was huge money, so the family wouldn't mind. And why are you yelling? You're scaring me!"

I wanted to throw up. I wanted to pull her hair, push her, and bury her instead.

She totally deserved it.

But I had no time for talking. I was frantic, desperate. This was Matthew's place. No one else could take it!

Mad as I was, I grabbed a shovel from one of the guards and started digging, dirt flying everywhere.

My hands were shaking, but I didn’t care.

"Emily, stop it!" Andrew yelled, grabbing the shovel from my hands.

"Andrew, you're a monster!" I shouted back, dropping to my knees, clawing at the dirt with my hands.

For a second, I didn't care how I looked or what they thought. All that mattered was Matthew.

Seeing I was about to reach the urn, Claire panicked.

"Stop her! Don't let her touch Milo!"

The guards then pulled me back like robots. Great. I thought only Claire had a corrupted mind. Turns out there are four of them.

"Let me go!"

I struggled, but they held tight. This couldn't be happening. I felt like I was trapped in a nightmare too cruel to be real.

This time, Andrew moved. He walked over, his eyes like ice.

Then he said, "Claire’s upset because of Milo’s death, and now you're digging up his grave? You’ve gone too far, Emily. Apologize to Claire. Now!"