My four-year-old son dies after someone crashes into him with a motorcycle. The culprit is a college freshman who's just been admitted.

I'm devastated, but my husband generously forgives her. "We have to give her a chance since she's such an outstanding student. She's still young—we can't ruin her future."

Ha. She has plenty of opportunities and a bright future ahead of her.

What about my son? He was only four.

Later, I rip his letter of forgiveness to pieces before his face.

He wants me to forgive the young lady?

No way in hell!

"Mommy… it hurts so bad…"

I snapped back to reality when I heard my four-year-old son, Cyril Walker, crying out.

We were crossing the street just moments ago when a motorcycle's headlight blazed toward us like a comet. Before I knew it, a huge force slammed into us, sending Cyril and me flying through the air.

For a split second, everything went dead quiet.

When I finally heard something again, it was Cyril's weak cries. "Mommy… Mommy… It hurts…"

I struggled to open my eyes, but everything was a blur, my mind completely blank. All I could make out was smoke billowing from a motorcycle and the chilling sight of blood smeared across the crosswalk.

Cyril's face was drenched in blood, his limbs bent in ways they shouldn't. I cried my eyes out.

"Cyril, Cyril! My sweet baby! It's okay. I'm right here. I'm right here with you!"

My hands trembled as I held my finger near his nose. His breath was so weak. It felt like it was barely there.

"Cyril, Cyril, are you okay? Please, don't scare me…" I cried out, losing it as tears poured down, blending with the blood on his face.

My husband, Trevor Walker, worked at the hospital nearby. I grabbed my phone and tried calling him—once, twice, three times—but it wouldn't connect.

Cyril's voice shook as he asked, "Do you think Daddy… can stop the bleeding?"

I pulled him close and nodded frantically. "Absolutely! Cyril, just hang in there! I'll get you to your dad right now!"

But when I grabbed my phone to call 911 again, it suddenly died—the battery was completely drained.

I glanced up, desperate for help, and saw a young woman hesitantly walking toward me. Her voice trembled as she asked her friend, "Roxanne... You don't think he's... He can't be dead, can he?"

Her friend, Roxanne Walker, walked over in her white lace flats.

She sounded exasperated. "Ugh, seriously? We finally got our acceptance letters and just wanted to chill for a bit, but then we ran into them. Why weren't they paying attention when they crossed the street? Talk about bad luck."

With her voice still shaking, the first woman said, "Roxanne... the light was green for them…"

I couldn't care less about any of that. I grabbed the pair of white lace flats and shouted at the top of my lungs, "Call 911, hurry! Get an ambulance! Get an ambulance, now!"

Roxanne yanked her feet back, clearly disgusted. "What's wrong with you? These shoes are all white! Look at what you did to them!"

Then, she let out a sneer, kicking Cyril's limp little hand with her foot.

"Looks like this one's a goner, huh?" she mocked.

Roxanne glanced back at her friend and said nonchalantly, "No cameras around. We'll just say they darted into the street out of nowhere, cool?"

I swatted her foot away and looked up to meet Roxanne's spiteful eyes. "What did you just say?"

I could barely believe what I was hearing. She actually hit us and was planning to just walk away from the mess she caused.

Roxanne took a step back, disgust written all over her face.

Then, she waved her phone, her voice dripping with disdain. "Is this how you're going to act when you need us to call an ambulance?"

I turned to Cyril, noticing his eyes losing its sharpness. I pushed through the burning pain in my body, forced myself to my feet, and lunged at Roxanne.

"Give me the phone!" My voice cracked as I yelled, "My son's dying! Hurry!"

The other young woman shot me a nervous look and quickly tossed the phone onto my lap. "Roxanne, just hand it over. She's freaking me out."

Roxanne paused for a beat, then raised her chin with an arrogant look.

"Better be careful with your words around the cops," she muttered, her tone dismissive. "My dad got me that motorcycle as a graduation gift. It cost a ton, so you'd better be ready to cover it!"

I didn't pay any attention to what she said. All I could think about was saving Cyril. Nothing else mattered.

My hands were trembling as I dialed 911. I kept repeating the address to the dispatcher, afraid they couldn't find the place.

…

I dropped onto the bench outside the operating room, gripping my phone tight and dialing Trevor's number repeatedly.

"We're sorry. The number you've dialed is currently unavailable. Please try again later." The automated voice recording hit me like a needle, stabbing my heart again and again.

About half an hour later, I heard a familiar voice calling me from down the hall. "Honey, where's Cyril?"

I jerked my head up to see Trevor, wearing his white coat, rushing toward me with a worried look. He worked as a doctor at this hospital but was only getting here now.

A wave of anger hit me all at once. I snatched my bag and threw it at him. "Trevor Walker! I called you a million times! Why the hell didn't you pick up? Cyril! Cyril… He…"

I was crying so hard. I could barely get any words out and felt like I was going to pass out.

My outburst caught Trevor off guard, and he stepped back, trying to dodge my blows.

"I was in surgery with my phone on silent. What's the deal?" He sounded impatient.

I jumped on him, pounding his chest as I gasped, "Cyril… I can't lose him… It's my fault. I shouldn't have taken him out. We were on the crosswalk, and a motorcycle…"

My finger shook as I pointed to the operating room. "Trevor, you must save Cyril! You're a doctor, too! Go in there and help with the surgery!"

Before I could even finish, I heard a high-pitched voice from behind me. "Trevor!"

I turned around to see Maeve Jenner rushing toward us, practically in a panic.

She grabbed Trevor's arm, her voice shaky. "Trevor, Roxy's hurt. She scraped up her knee pretty badly. She might not be able to wear skirts again…"

"Maeve, take it easy…"

Maeve was the head nurse at the same hospital as Trevor—and the first love he'd never really gotten over.

I gave her a hard look. "Roxy? You mean Roxanne Walker?"

Maeve's eyes were red, and she nodded, leaning into Trevor without realizing it. "Roxy didn't mean it, Whitney. This has to be a mistake. She feels terrible about it."

I pointed at Trevor, my voice slow and clear. "You've got ten seconds to decide. Scratch that, five. Are you going in there to help with Cyril's surgery or not?"

Trevor was about to speak when Maeve moved closer to him. "Whitney, don't worry. Roxy said Cyril's injuries aren't that bad. He'll be okay!"

How the hell could she say Cyril's injuries weren't that bad when his limbs were all twisted up?

Trevor frowned, giving me an annoyed look. "Our colleagues in there are just as qualified. They've got it covered, and Cyril will be fine. Anything else you need to say can wait. I've got to check on Roxy's injury."

He turned and walked off with Maeve beside him.

I stared at his back, feeling like I was looking at someone I didn't even know.

After what seemed like forever, a doctor in a white coat finally came out.

He pulled down his mask, his voice thick with emotion. "Are you the family? We did everything we could, but the injuries were too serious. There was too much bleeding in his brain. We couldn't save him."

"No way…" My legs buckled, and I collapsed to the floor. The world went dark around me, and a ringing buzzed in my ears.

The doctor's voice sounded distant like it wasn't even real.

I rushed into the operating room and saw a small figure quietly lying there. Cyril wasn't breathing anymore. I gently ran my fingers over his face, and the coldness of his skin shattered me inside.

I held Cyril's body tight, my cries coming from the very depths of me.

Out of nowhere, Roxanne popped into my head.

Anger surged inside me, hot and fierce. I rushed down the hall, heading straight for the emergency room on the first floor.

"Doctor! Nurse! Where are the two young women who were brought in from the motorcycle accident earlier?" I grabbed a nurse passing by, my voice strained and frantic. "The ones with my son!"

I searched through each room. It wasn't until I got to the last one that I saw them—those white lace flats splattered with blood.

I burst through the door and found Trevor crouched on the floor, tying a bandage around Roxanne's wounds. The second they spotted me, they froze.

"Roxanne Walker!" I rushed over, yanking her by the hair and dragging her off the bed. "You killer! Come on, we're going to the cops!"

"What the hell are you doing?" Roxanne screamed and thrashed around. "Are you crazy? Let go of me!"

"Let go? Cyril's dead because of you, and you want me to let go?" I yelled, holding on even tighter.

"Whitney! Whitney, please, calm down!" Maeve rushed over, trying to pull me off.

People began to gather around us, but all I could hear was the roar of my own anger. I couldn't hear anything else. I didn't care about the looks or the gossip. All I wanted was to see this killer pay for what she did.

"Whitney Sorrel! Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Trevor jumped up, shoving me to the ground.

A sharp pain shot through my stomach, and when I looked down, I saw blood soaking through my clothes. The place where he'd grabbed me was on fire with pain.

Trevor kept pulling me away from Roxanne, his eyes cold as ice. "Whitney! What the hell are you talking about?"

I pointed at Roxanne and barked, "Our son's gone! Cyril's gone!"

Trevor stepped in front of Roxanne and grabbed my arm. "Roxy said Cyril's fine! How long are you going to keep this act up? I know you've never liked Maeve, but why make it tough on Roxy?"

I stumbled back, yanking my arm away, and pointed at Roxanne's white shoes. "Make it tough on her? Open your eyes! Look at her shoes. They're covered in Cyril's blood! It was her who was speeding and killed Cyril! And—"

Trevor immediately jumped in between me and Roxanne. He emphasized every word. "You're out of your mind!"

I grabbed Trevor and yanked him toward the operating room. The second he saw Cyril's lifeless body, he almost collapsed.

I pointed at the dead body. "This is fine? You think I'm just putting on a show? Listen up, Trevor—you're going to regret this!"

Just then, two officers walked in, notebooks in hand.

One of them spoke up, "We just took statements from Roxanne Walker and Liana Johnson. They're both freshmen and went out to celebrate getting into the university.

"At first, Cyril Walker was still in surgery after the accident, so we handled it like a regular traffic incident. But now that he's passed away, we're reopening the case."

The officer paused, then turned to face me with a serious look. "Ms. Whitney Sorrel, their statements claim you ran a red light. Is that true?"

"No! No way! I didn't run any red light! They were speeding and hit Cyril!" I shook my head wildly, tears streaming down my face, my voice raspy.

"That's enough!" Trevor interrupted, his voice sharp with irritation. He turned to the officers, his tone unnervingly steady.

"My wife's been really struggling since we lost our son." He paused for a beat before adding, "As a family member of the deceased, can I write a forgiveness letter?"

His words sent a chill down my spine.

"What?" I stared at him, eyes wide like I'd just been hit with a jolt. My mind went blank.

The officers seemed just as shocked.

One of them paused before asking, "Yeah, that's possible. So, you're saying you want to forgive the people responsible?"

Trevor nodded, his voice flat. "Yes, I forgive them."