“That child was just an accident. If you don’t like it, I’ll have him sent abroad in a few days.”
Small matter? Accident?
Five years earlier, she had been attacked by enemies.
I had taken three knife wounds for her, one in my chest, one in my thigh, and one to my lower body.
I had lost so much blood that she had not hesitated to abort her three-month pregnancy to donate to me.
When I woke, the doctor had told me I would never have the chance to be a father in this life.
I did not cry, but Athena’s eyes had gone red.
She knelt at my feet, her tears spilling as she bowed, striking her own face again and again until it swelled like that of a madwoman.
“Waylon, it’s my fault, I ruined you!”
She clung to me tightly, her forehead bleeding onto my skin, and even as her body trembled with pain, she never released my hand.
“Walyon, I don’t need children, I don’t need anything, I only need you!”
“We will never separate in this life. I, Athena, even in death, will never betray you!” she vowed, every word burning with fierce conviction.
Those desperate words tore apart the last shred of my dignity. I sneered, pulled a photo from my pocket, and slapped it hard against her face.