“Laila once took care of me when I was seriously ill. This is just my way of repaying her. Only a filthy-minded, disgusting woman like you would twist everything into something romantic!”
The last sliver of hope in my heart made me choke out my words. “But Jackson, today is my birthday…”
Jackson seemed to have just recalled that today was my birthday, and he fell into a brief silence.
He was about to say something, but my father snatched the phone and said, “Seraphina, can you stop being so pathetic? Laila doesn’t have long to live, and you still want to argue with a sick person?”
Laila leaned against Jackson and gently said, “Come on, you all know what kind of person Seraphina is. Today is the most important day of my life. Let’s just be happy.”
With just one sentence, she soothed both men.
After the call ended, I was left alone at home in the dark night—like a fool no one cared about.
I waited for an entire week, but my family never returned. Not even one of them reached out to me.
When I was 12, my father brought my stepmother and an unfamiliar girl into our home.
At that moment, I finally understood something—my mother’s death wasn’t caused by an accident, but by a broken heart.
