Chapter 19

"Andrew!"

Susan's throat was brutally squeezed, cutting off her breath instantly. Her eyes widened in disbelief at the man before her—the same Andrew Lucas who had treated her with tenderness just yesterday.

"Good acting." Andrew sneered, his eyes dark with fury. "Terminal stomach cancer? Susan, do you take me for a fool?"

"I didn't—"

"Shut up!" He released her abruptly, sending her crashing against the wall. His gaze raked over her like she was filth. "For that bastard, you'd even fake a terminal illness?"

Susan coughed violently, tears streaming uncontrollably. With trembling hands, she pulled a medical report from her bag. "Andrew, look! This is the hospital's diagnosis!"

He didn't even glance at it, slapping the papers from her grasp. The documents scattered across the floor as he stepped on them, crushing both the words and her dignity.

"Colluding with doctors for this charade? You've sunk lower than I thought."

"It's not a lie!" She grabbed his sleeve desperately. "Andrew, the doctor said Daniel can have surgery next week. Please—"

"Please?" His fingers dug into her chin with bone-crushing force. "Where was this begging four years ago? When you threw our dead child's body in my face, why weren't you crying like this?"

Her entire body shook as tears blurred her vision. She groped for the paternity test on the floor. "Daniel is really your son—"

"Enough!" Andrew snatched the document and tore it to shreds before her eyes. The fragments fluttered down like snow as his voice turned glacial. "Forged trash isn't worth my time."

As he turned to leave, Susan lunged and clung to his leg. "For Daniel's sake—"

"Get off!" He kicked her away violently. "Don't disgust me with that bastard!"

The door slammed with thunderous force. Susan collapsed on the floor, every scrap of paper cutting like knives against her fingertips. She mechanically tried piecing them together, but the proof remained irreparably broken.

"Mommy."

The small voice made her jerk her head up. Daniel stood in the doorway, his frail body swimming in hospital pajamas, bruises peeking from beneath bandages. His obsidian eyes darkened as they took in the scattered paper.

"Daniel..."

"Don't cry." Limping forward, he wiped her tears with tiny hands. "I don't need Daddy."

Her tears fell harder. The three-year-old knelt, carefully gathering every fragment before clutching them tightly in his palm.

"I just need Mommy."

He looked up with a smile more heartbreaking than tears. Susan pulled him into her arms, feeling his small frame tremble.

"Mommy, will you die?" he suddenly asked.

She froze. Meeting his clear eyes—filled with fear no child should know—she heard herself lie. "No. I'll always be with you."

But when he fell asleep, the mirror showed her pale face streaked with blood. The truth could no longer be denied.