The Fine Art of Misunderstanding

Matt didn't give me a chance to refuse before hanging up again.

I blinked. Only then did I realize I'd forgotten to start the recording.

But it was just one or two sentences—probably not important.

I was only calling my mother-in-law to meet with her son. That should be fine, right?

I called my mother-in-law.

By the time she arrived, I headed over as well.

When I got there and went to look for her, I was told she'd already been sent into the operating room.

I was surprised. That fast?

Had Matt drugged her and sent her in? Didn't he know that was his own mother?

I went to the operating room entrance and happened to see Matt. He was holding Wendy's hand, chatting and laughing as they walked over.

I stepped forward to remind him. "Matt, do you even know who was sent into surgery?"

At that, Wendy—who had been smiling—suddenly teared up.

"If Lily doesn't want to help me, then forget it. She doesn't trust that I'm capable enough. Lily must be worried about me…"

I hurriedly waved my hands.

"No, no, that's not it. I'm just worried about Matt. After all, that's—"

Matt shoved me aside impatiently.

"What's there to worry about? It's not my mom."

I may be missing a screw, but I still had a conscience. I chased after them.

"What if the practice surgery fails? I know I'm not in a position to say this, but that's still a human life."

Matt rolled his eyes.

"Practice surgeries are risky. If she dies, she dies. Oh, right—I already signed the risk consent form on your behalf. I'm your mom's family. I have the right to sign."

I reached out to stop him.

Before I could speak, Matt shoved me hard and frowned as he shut the operating room doors.

Just before the doors closed, I saw Wendy turn and smile smugly at me, silently mouthing that she would never let my mom come out alive.

I was pushed to the ground.

I climbed back up, dusted off my pants, and shook my head helplessly.

The one receiving the practice surgery wasn't even my real mom. What was I worried about?

I hadn't expected Matt to be this ruthless. It seemed bringing up divorce had been the right decision.

The lawyer handed me the drafted divorce agreement, and I sat waiting outside the operating room.

Three hours later, they came out laughing and chatting.

Matt pulled off his mask and said to me coolly, "Lily, your mom is dead. I also had Wendy dissect her so she could study the human body."

Then he tossed me a body donation consent form. "Sign it."

With his hands in his pockets, Matt looked at me with nothing but indifference. "What kind of compensation do you want? Say it, and I'll give it to you."

I shook my head.

"I can't sign this. Only you can—you're her son."

I quickly handed him the divorce agreement.

"You don't like me, and we're not suited to be husband and wife. Let's get divorced."

Matt's eyes darkened sharply. "So your compensation is divorce? And taking half of my assets?"

He slammed the divorce agreement hard into my face. "I didn't expect this, Lily. You're more calculating than I thought. Every clause your lawyer wrote is airtight. But why should my property go to you? If you want a divorce, fine—but only if you leave with nothing."

I answered honestly, "The lawyer said this is my right."