After My Son's Death, I Destroyed The Wealthy Family

It was raining the day my wife drove our son to his college entrance exam. Midway through the drive, she sudcdenly turned the car around and rushed to the hospital—leaving our son behind in the downpour. She was pregnant. With her assistant’s child. My son couldn’t find a taxi. He ran in the rain, desperate not to be late. He never made it. A car struck him. By the time I got the call and rushed to the hospital, he was already gone. As I stood there, stunned, choking on my grief, my wife—Serena Portman—called me. “Darling, I’m pregnant,” she said cheerfully. “It’s Ricky Joshua’s.” “I drank too much that night on the business trip. But this child is still mine… I have to keep it.” “You’ve always wanted a daughter, right? If it’s a girl, you can raise her.” She continued, “Ricky’s thrilled—it’s his first time becoming a father. He wants to be there through it all. I’ll be staying with him for a while.” “But don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you and our son when I get back.” I wiped away my tears, steadied my voice and answered, “Mm.” After my son’s funeral, I drafted the divorce papers and made a phone call. “You’ve always wanted to bring down the Portman Family,” I said. “I won’t stop you anymore.”