The reason Ethan had his accident that day was because Alex used my time at the hospital caring for my father to bring his lover into our bedroom.
It wasn't his first time cheating. But it had the worst consequences.
He'd given all the maids looking after Ethan the day off. To keep my son from crying and ruining the mood, he casually bought French fries to stuff in his mouth.
Our child was allergic to potatoes. The doctor had warned us from day one. I reminded everyone daily.
That day, when I rushed home to save him—
Alex was upstairs, holding the terrified woman, watching me break down. Watching me blame myself.
Only after I'd taken Ethan to the hospital did he come downstairs, destroy all the evidence, and bribe the media to denounce me. Making me believe I was a murderer.
Then he showed up in public, playing the husband who'd rushed back from his business trip.
Red-eyed savior. Kneeling, pulling me into his arms, kissing me over and over. Telling me it was an accident. That it wasn't my fault.
For six months, he never said a harsh word. Never blamed me once.