My Husband Gave My Life-Saving Medicine to His Mistress

"Mom, is someone bullying you?" Emma asked, blinking her eyes. Her thin fingers rested in my palm, so light I could barely feel their weight.

"Of course not... don't be silly," I said, fighting back tears as I gently brushed her forehead.

Her hair, shaved off earlier, had started to grow back. It felt prickly, like a puppy's coarse fur.

I remembered convincing her to shave her head, promising that her hair would grow back thicker and shinier. Sadly, I wouldn't be around to see it.

"But the nurse said..." Emma lowered her eyes. "She said I'm the daughter of a homewrecker."

She was too young to understand what "homewrecker" meant.

But she could sense the intentional malice in others' words.

The nurse who used to be so kind to her had suddenly changed. Emma didn't know what she'd done wrong, only guessing that someone might be mistreating me.

"It's okay, sweetie. Let's get some sleep, and everything will be better," I said soothingly, my voice too hoarse to sing a lullaby.

My Emma had always been obedient. When I said it was time to sleep, she'd pull up her covers and close her eyes.

But today, she wouldn't listen.

Not only did she keep her eyes open, but she started coughing up blood.

The room's medical equipment erupted in alarms.

I was paralyzed with fear. As I was dragged out of the room, my fingers wouldn't stop shaking, and my legs were too weak to stand.

"Mrs. Connor, you've used up all your prepaid funds," the nurse said, handing me a credit card terminal. "The emergency treatment and subsequent ICU costs will be $10,000."

I swiped my card with trembling hands, only to see "INSUFFICIENT FUNDS" glaring back at me.

This card should have had $50,000 in it!

As I was checking if someone had stolen from my account, a pop-up news article gave me the answer.

In the screen, Jack and Vicky were cuddling sweetly, a picture-perfect couple. The reporter gushed about his devotion to her.

It turned out Vicky's acting career wasn't going well. No one would cast her, saying with her looks she could only be an extra.

Jack, in a grand gesture of love, had spent $6 million – his entire fortune – to produce a movie for her.

Internet users were swooning, flooding the comments section with wishes for Vicky's stardom and envying her for having someone willing to bankroll her dreams.

What a beautiful love story.

While our daughter was critically ill, Jack had found time to hire directors and crew for Vicky, even emptying the company's working capital to invest in her.

He'd forgotten he had a daughter in the hospital who needed money to stay alive.

I had to calm down. While borrowing money from everyone I knew, I kept calling Jack.

Finally, after an hour, he picked up.

On the other end, Vicky's laughter rang out like silver bells.

"Trying to lecture me about money?" Jack said, clearly knowing why I was calling. He was dismissive. "You don't understand anything. Vicky's such a great actress, and with the script I wrote specifically for her, she's going to be a superstar!

"I invest $6 million now, it'll bring in hundreds of millions later. If you're so jealous, why don't you ask Ethan to invest in a movie for you? Then we'll see whose movie the audience prefers!"

He was slurring his words, drunk, but couldn't hide his excitement.

He went on and on about how brilliant his script was, how beautiful Vicky's face was, how her acting could impress world-class directors.

"Enough!" I interrupted, unable to take it anymore. "Do you realize Emma is in emergency care and needs $10,000? We're out of money! She's dying!"