The Cruel Wife

The Blanket That Stayed

"Aw, my poor baby, did that scare you?" Skye cooed, gently stroking his dog's smooth fur. Then, as though finally tired, he ordered the bodyguards to let Ash go. Lifting his foot, he pressed it down hard on the boy's bruised face, wearing a look of false pity. "See? Even your mom doesn't want you anymore. How pitiful."

The elevator doors slowly slid shut, leaving only Ash's tiny body curled up on the cold tile floor.

I knelt beside him, knowing it was useless, yet still trying over and over to pull him into my arms. It didn't work—nothing did. Without Eira's orders, no one dared come near to save my child.

The blood at the corner of his lips had already dried. His eyelids fluttered, but he couldn't open them. Only the blanket in his arms made the faintest rustling sound through the thin plastic bag wrapped around it. The St. Christopher medal that once hung from his neck was gone—only a faint mark remained, proof that he'd once been someone's most precious treasure.

I didn't know how long I had knelt there, or how long I had cried. My chest had gone numb with pain, and my tears had all run dry.

Just when I thought everything was over, Eira came downstairs. The sharp click of her 5-inch heels echoed through the lobby.

She stopped in the center of the hall, her expression unreadable as she looked at the still little figure on the floor. "Still putting on a show? Is this what Howard taught you—how to fake sympathy? You really think that if you act pitiful enough, I'll soften up? Keep dreaming."

Each word cut through me like a blade, stabbing my soul again and again. I wanted to scream—how could she? How could she believe such cruelty of her own child? My boy was gentle, obedient, innocent… Tears spilled onto his face.

And then, maybe it was my imagination—but his eyelashes trembled.

Eira kept talking, but when she noticed no reaction from him, unease crept into her voice. She started walking closer, her heels clicking faster and faster. "Ash? Why aren't you saying anything? I already see through your act—stop pretending."

Her tone grew heavier with every word, her pace quicker with every step. Just as she reached him, Ash's small hand twitched. She froze, and confusion turned instantly into anger at being "deceived" again.

She pulled out her phone, snapped several photos of his back, and sent them to my phone. 'Howard Levine, you've really outdone yourself. Teaching your son to lie because you couldn't fool me yourself? Fine. Since you like playing pity games, let's see who breaks first.'

After sending the message, Eira hesitated for a long moment, then turned and walked away without looking back.

When silence returned to the hall, Ash slowly opened his eyes. He coughed again and again, each one wet with blood. When a droplet splattered onto the plastic bag in his arms, he suddenly came to. Struggling to his feet, he hugged the blanket tightly and smiled through his split lips.

Then, stumbling and swaying, he carried the blanket back to the hallway where my body lay. His small hand touched my cold skin, and he froze for a second before spreading the blanket over me with the last of his strength. "Here, Daddy. You won't be cold anymore once you've got the blanket."

And with that, he collapsed.

…

The next morning, a passing intern screamed, their voice echoing through the hospital. "Code Blue! Code Blue in the hallway!"

Hearing the commotion, Eira pushed through the gathered crowd, frowning. "What's all this noise? If you disturb Skye's recovery, every one of you—"

Her words stopped short.

She saw the man lying lifeless on the bed, and the little boy slumped over him, barely breathing—and her face turned ashen white.