My three-year-old daughter had acute appendicitis. But instead of being there for her, my wife was busy taking care of Luke Granthill’s son——who was awaiting a kidney transplant. Luke is her first love, her white moonlight. She told me to take our daughter to the hospital by taxi.
Because she wasn’t treated in time, what should have been a routine surgery turned into a tragedy. My daughter died from an abdominal infection caused by the delayed operation.
At the hospital, I broke down completely. All I wanted was an explanation. Instead, the doctor gave me nothing but a cold, clinical response.
“Even minor surgeries carry risks,” he said flatly. “But in your case, the child died of an abdominal infection due to delayed treatment. This is a known high-risk factor in appendicitis cases. There was nothing we could do.”
My hands trembled as I dialed my wife’s number. Before I could even speak, her impatient voice pierced through the line.
“It’s just an appendectomy! You’re her father—can’t you handle this yourself? Luke’s son is about to go into surgery for a kidney transplant. Don’t bother me right now.”
Luke. The boy she dropped everything for wasn’t even hers.
Just then, my mother-in-law rushed into the hospital. Seeing me collapsed on the ground, she ran over. I looked up at her, hollow and broken.
“Mom... she’s gone. I have nothing left. Please, just let me go.”
——
Her eyes filled with tears as she crouched beside me, gently patting my shoulder.
“I spoke to the doctor,” she said softly. “It’s rare, but it can happen. Where’s that ungrateful girl? Is she still with Luke?”
Without waiting for my reply, she added, “Don’t worry. I’ll call her right now. For her not to be here at a time like this—your father and I won’t let this slide.”
I handed her my phone, already open to Rachel Sinclair’s latest social media post from just an hour ago.
"Thank God, we finally found a matching kidney. Don’t worry, baby. Daddy and Auntie will wait for you to come back safely after defeating the monster."
The photo beneath the caption showed Luke’s five-year-old son lying in a hospital bed.
My mother-in-law’s voice caught in her throat. Her hands clenched. Anger gradually replaced the grief in her eyes.
“I’ll call that rebellious girl right now,” she muttered. “Don’t worry, the Sinclair family will give you justice for this…”
But I had already pressed dial.
The moment the call connected, Rachel’s voice came through, laced with irritation.
“Ethan, do you have to keep calling me? It’s just a small appendectomy! Aren’t you the child’s father? If you can’t even handle this, what good are you?”
“Jamie is going into surgery soon. I have to stay with Luke. Stop bothering me!”
She didn’t give me a chance to respond. The line went dead.
I had put her on speaker. Every word reached my mother-in-law’s ears. Her face turned pale. Her lips trembled as she searched for words.
I forced a smile, but it crumbled instantly as tears poured down.
“Please, Mom… I have nothing left. I can’t live like this anymore. Not with her.”
Just then, a stretcher rolled in front of us—the small body under a white sheet lying motionless.
“Please prepare for the postmortem arrangements,” the doctor said quietly.
My knees buckled. I collapsed again, unable to breathe, unable to move.
My mother-in-law called the funeral home. I followed like a ghost—silent, numb—until they loaded my daughter’s body into the van.
Suddenly, something snapped inside me. I rushed forward, grabbing the car door and holding it tightly.
As if letting go would mean losing her all over again.
"My child isn’t dead! Where are you taking her? Give her back to me!"
I screamed until my voice broke.
"Let go of my daughter! I want to take her home—I want to take her home!"
My mother-in-law clung to me from behind, sobbing as she tried to hold me back.
“Ethan, please... I know you’re in pain. Let the child rest. Let her go in peace...”
Several men rushed forward to restrain me. As my grip finally slipped from the hearse’s door handle, it drove away. I stood frozen, watching it disappear into the distance until the car was nothing more than a speck. My legs gave out. Darkness swallowed me whole.
---
When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in the Sinclair family’s old house. My mother-in-law was sitting at my bedside, her eyes red and swollen.
She wiped her tears quickly when she saw me awake. I tried to smile, but my lips trembled.
“Mom... please,” I whispered. “Let me go. I have nothing left.”
She was stunned for a moment, then her face softened with quiet resolve.
“…Alright. I’ll talk to your father.”
As she left the room, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I turned away, covered my eyes with the back of my hand, and broke down.
---
I came to the Sinclair family when I was ten. Back then, my father and Rachel’s father had built their business empire together. They were closer than brothers.
But everything fell apart when my parents were targeted by business rivals. Overnight, I became an orphan. It was Rachel’s father who took me in and raised me like his own.
He once told me that without my father, the Sinclair family wouldn’t exist. He also said the one thing he regretted in life was not being there in time to save my parents.
I can’t deny it—both he and my mother-in-law treated me better than their own child.
So even after marrying Rachel, no matter how cruel or cold she was, I stayed. I did the housework. I raised our daughter. I endured everything—for the sake of the family that raised me.
All I ever wanted was to protect my daughter.
Now even she’s gone.
---
I don’t know how much time passed before my mother-in-law returned. She stood in the doorway, her voice gentle.
“Your father wants to see you.”
I walked to the study. My father-in-law sat there, staring at a framed photo of Rachel. When he heard me enter, he quickly wiped the tears from his face.
He turned toward me, eyes filled with sorrow.
“Child… your mother told me everything. All these years, it’s our Sinclair family—and Rachel—who failed you.”
He paused.
“The cremation is tomorrow. After it’s over, if you want to leave, you have my blessing. That girl... she’s not worthy of you. Not after what she’s done.”
I bowed deeply, saying nothing. Tears streamed down, falling onto the polished floor.
I will always be grateful to the Sinclair family for raising me. But Rachel? I’ll never forgive her. Never again will I call myself her husband.
My father-in-law sighed heavily.
“Go rest, son. Things will get better... somehow.”
---
When I returned to the bedroom, the last person I wanted to see walked in—Rachel.
She glanced at me with a sneer.
“What? Came running back to the old house to cry to my parents already?”
She crossed her arms and smirked.
“Ethan, do you really think that sucking up to them will make me give in to you?”
Then her voice dropped, full of mockery.
“I don’t get it—since my mom loves you so much, why don’t you just be her toy? I wouldn’t even mind calling you stepdad. And my dad? Hell, he treats you like a brother already. Why not make it official?”
Rachel’s face twisted into a mocking smile. Her words were even more vicious than her expression—each one like a blade.
Looking at her, the hatred in my chest surged like a tidal wave, threatening to drown me. I wanted to strangle her. I wanted her to pay for our daughter’s life—with blood.
But just then, my daughter’s soft, tender voice echoed in my ears, fragile and warm, like a fading dream.
"Dad, is Mom busy again today? I haven’t seen her in so long…"
"Dad, I’ll tell you a secret… Mom is the prettiest mommy in all of kindergarten!"
"Dad, I miss Mom so much."
Then came that final memory—her voice weak and trembling as I carried her into the taxi, her little arms wrapped tightly around my neck.
“Dad, don’t be mad at Mom, okay? It doesn’t hurt… really… it doesn’t hurt at all…”
My throat tightened. I forced down the rage, turned away from Rachel, and quietly walked to the bed, sitting down without sparing her another glance.
But she wasn’t done. Anger flared in her eyes as she stomped forward, grabbed my wrist, and threw me onto the bed. She straddled me, gripping my wrists above my head.
“What’s with the act, huh? Didn’t you beg my parents to drag me back? What, now you’re sulking because I came?”
She leaned down, trying to kiss me. I turned my head, but she pressed harder. Left with no choice, I bit her lip—hard.
She gasped in pain and recoiled, sitting up as fury twisted her face.
“Ethan, have you lost your mind?! What the hell are you playing at now?”
She laughed coldly and launched into her tirade.
“You really think I don’t see through you? You used that little appendicitis scare to force me to the hospital. Then, when it didn’t work, you cried to my parents to pressure me to come back. And now, you're pulling this distant, cold act? What—trying to win sympathy?”
“You left her—your daughter—alone in the hospital after surgery. She’s three! What kind of father does that? And now you’re playing victim? She probably knew what kind of father you were before she died—"
“I said…” I cut her off, my voice icy and low, “…the child is dead.”
She froze.
For a second, something flickered in her eyes. But then her lips curled into a sneer.
“You really are something, Ethan. You’ll say anything to gain pity, won’t you?”
With that, she stood and walked toward the door. Just before stepping out, she turned and spoke without emotion.
“You rejected me yourself. Don’t run crying to my parents again about how badly I treat you. If you do, I’ll only find you more pathetic.”
The door shut behind her.
Silence returned to the room like a heavy fog.
I wiped my lips over and over again, as if scrubbing could erase the memory of her touch—the scent of her.
We had once been in love.
I still remember her 18th birthday. She wore a soft blue princess dress, her cheeks flushed as she stood in front of me.
“Ethan,” she said nervously, “can I like you?”
Her eyes couldn’t meet mine. They were shy and full of light.
My heart melted. I nodded before I even realized I had.
From then on, we were inseparable—four years of youth shared side by side. I cherished her like a treasure, and she gave me her heart in return.
Or so I thought.
Then, four years later, her father sat us down.
“You two have been together long enough,” he said, beaming. “You’re of age now. It’s time. We’ll pick a good day for the wedding.”
Everything changed after that.
Rachel turned cold. Her affection vanished overnight, replaced by impatience, then disgust. I didn’t understand what I had done wrong. And she never offered an explanation.
A year into the marriage, she became pregnant.
But after our daughter was born, she drifted further away—staying out late, refusing to come home. She didn’t even bother hiding it anymore when she took her so-called first love, Luke, out in public, arm-in-arm, letting the whole world see how little she cared.
