Chapter 3

I still remember that day when I rushed home, eager to tell Samuel the good news about my kidney being a match.

As for the ultrasound confirming my pregnancy, I had already torn it to pieces and tossed it in the trash.

For the man I loved, I had made my choice.

I would secretly terminate the pregnancy and proceed with the transplant surgery.

But the moment I stepped through the door, what awaited me was Samuel lying in a pool of blood.

A handwritten suicide note sat on the table.

He wrote that he couldn’t bear to watch the girl he loved wither away.

He refused to drag me into debt just to prolong his suffering and ruin my chances to have a good life.

He mentioned because he loved me more than he loved himself, he chose to end it—slitting his wrists so that both of us could be freed from this misery.

Samuel’s condition was severe.

Even with a transplant, the doctors warned there was no guarantee he’d fully recover, and having children in the future would be nearly impossible.

This was his way of protecting me.

It was his final, desperate choice.

I sobbed as I rushed him to the emergency room.

When he finally woke up, I slapped him across the face.

"Samuel Shaw, I’ve been wanting to divorce you for a long time! You really think I’m that stupid? That I’d willingly spend my life suffering with you?

"Don’t you dare use suicide to guilt trip me! I’m not falling for it!"

I lied.

I told him I was working at a bar and already hooked up with a rich heir.

I would never forget the look on his face—shattered, hollow.

It was the second time I ever saw Samuel cry.

The first was at his parents’ funeral.

He signed the divorce papers and told me I was free.

It wasn’t until I left the hospital and got into a cab that I finally broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.

If I hadn’t done it this way, Samuel would have never accepted my kidney.

So, I hid away and gave birth to my son.

My body had barely recovered before I was back on the operating table.

Just before death could take him, I saved Samuel.

…

That night, memories of the past haunted me in my sleep.

In my nightmare, the one lying in a pool of blood wasn’t Samuel—it was my son.

I woke up in a cold sweat, drained in every way, but I still had to go to work.

Giving birth and immediately undergoing kidney transplant surgery had left my body severely weakened.

If not for my best friend, Rachel Song, who managed a hotel and took me in, offering me a stable job and extra care, I might not have even had this opportunity.

That was why I cherished my job so much.

Tonight, the hotel was fully booked for a private birthday party.

I was swamped with work when the supervisor rushed over, out of breath.

"A few rich kids snuck out to play, got into an argument with your son, and dragged him into a private room to beat him up!"

The tray in my hands slipped, shattering on the floor.

Panic gripped me as I sprinted toward the private room.

But the moment I saw the scene inside, my face went red with rage.

My son, bruised and bloodied, his lip split open, was surrounded by three boys, no older than seven or eight, who were kicking and punching him.

One of them had grabbed a champagne bottle, trying to force it into his mouth.

I lunged forward, shoving them away, my palm landing hard and fast on them in a blind fury.

Jewelry-clad socialites gasped in horror as they rushed in, shielding their children.

Samuel’s brows furrowed deeply the moment he saw me, my hair disheveled and my face flushed with rage.

Behind him, Becky followed closely, dressed in an extravagant princess gown, a diamond-studded birthday crown perched on her head.

Her expression turned pitiful as she took in the shattered glass, the injured children, and the chaotic mess.

"Loretta, did you find out today was my birthday and deliberately bring your son here to stir up trouble? Were you trying to ruin the celebration Sam planned just for me?"

I had no interest in arguing with her.

Instead, I turned to the well-dressed women standing nearby.

"Your kids attacked my son. Pay for his medical expenses."

Samuel’s initial look of concern vanished, replaced by fury.

"Loretta Lee, are you seriously this relentless? If you can’t get money out of me one way, you just find another excuse to haunt me?"

I let out a bitter laugh.

"That’s right. It’s just sixty thousand dollars. Since you’re so rich, think of it as a tip."

Samuel’s cold sneer deepened.

Without warning, he grabbed me and dragged me toward the champagne tower.

"You want my sixty thousand dollars? Fine! Every glass you drink, I’ll give you two thousand dollars. Drink as much as you want, and I’ll pay accordingly!"

I glanced at my son curled up on the couch, his small body trembling.

Without hesitation, I grabbed a glass and downed it in one gulp.

I downed one glass, then another… and finally, the tenth.

I drank too fast.

The alcohol burned down my throat, stinging my nose.

The liquid spilled over, dripping down my face, soaking my hair, and mixing with my tears.

All around me, I could feel the scornful gazes of onlookers, watching as if I were some pathetic spectacle.

Becky covered her mouth, but the mockery and glee in her eyes were impossible to hide.

At that moment, I felt stripped of every ounce of dignity, utterly humiliated.

I had no idea how many glasses I had downed.

My stomach churned violently, my body swaying.

Then, my son rushed forward, clutching my leg, his tear-streaked face flushed red.

“Mommy, stop drinking! I don’t want treatment anymore—please, no more! You’re all horrible! Stop bullying my mommy!”

"Enough!" Samuel finally snapped.

He grabbed my wrist and, in one swift motion, swiped the entire table of drinks onto the floor.

My voice was weak, barely above a whisper.

"What a shame… I only drank enough for thirty thousand dollars…"

Samuel’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Fine. Fine! Waiter! Bring me every bottle you have!”

Before the waiter could respond, Rachel burst into the room.

"Mr. Shaw! Loretta has kidney issues—she can’t process alcohol properly! Do you want to kill her?"

Samuel froze for a second, then scoffed, his face turning cold again.

"This is just another one of your sob stories, isn’t it?"

Samuel took the glass of wine handed to him and flung it straight at my face.

Dizzy and disoriented, I could no longer stay on my feet and collapsed onto the floor.

"First, you lie about your son having kidney failure. Now, suddenly, it’s your kidneys that are failing?"

He grabbed another glass and poured it over my head, the liquid drenching me from top to bottom.

"At least get your story straight with your little friend before trying to pull this pathetic stunt!"

Rachel snapped, calling him insane as she tore off her coat and draped it over me.

"Loretta donated a kidney to you six years ago! The surgery records are all there! Do you want to see them?"