For two months, I had secretly watched Willy spending countless late nights in his study, meticulously designing this very pattern. I had foolishly believed it was meant for Liam's birthday gift. But in his heart, the ones truly unworthy were my son and me.
Under my insistence, Willy processed my discharge papers and took me home. He refused the nanny’s assistance, personally helping me bathe and wash my hair, carefully avoiding my wound. He even blow-dried my hair with gentle attention—a picture-perfect husband.
Once, I would have been moved by such tenderness. But as I stared at the grotesque scars on my stomach and thought of my son's cruel death, I felt only emptiness. My heart was a barren wasteland.
***
That night, while Willy slept, I crept into his study. Using my laptop, I accessed his cloud drive. The password was Sophia’s birthday.
Inside were tens of thousands of photos and videos, capturing every moment of Sophia’s pregnancy, the birth of their child and his growth over the years. And there, amidst the sea of memories, lay a prepared share transfer agreement.