This Life, Their Regret Is My Justice

After a full week of night shifts, I make a fatal mistake—injecting my son, Ricky Lambert, with phenobarbital, mistaking it for an antibiotic.

The injection stops his breathing instantly, and the hospital soon declares him brain-dead.

My husband, Terence Lambert, completely falls apart when he hears the news. The only thing that calms him is holding his nephew, Ryan Lambert, who looks so much like Ricky.

So, I give up my transfer to Harborstone to Wendy Larson, my brother-in-law's wife. I even agree to adopt her son.

Because of that mistake, I work hard and endure Terence's coldness day after day without a word of complaint.

Ten years later, when Wendy returns home a success, that's when I accidentally overhear her speaking with Terence.

"Back then, to help me get residency at Harborstone, you swapped the medicine and killed your own son. Do you really not regret it?"

Terence sneers. "Of course not. I promised I'd help you rise above the rest. And I know Rosalie too well. If she knows there is a chance to go back to Harborstone, she'll fight you for it to the bitter end.

"I have to use Ricky's death to trap her for good. It also gives me the perfect excuse to make her raise our son, so you can focus on your career without any burden."

I can't believe what I'm hearing. I run out the door and accidentally fall into a raging river.

When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the very day the hospital declares Ricky dead.

A suffocating ache still burned in my nose. The moment I snapped my eyes open, I met Wendy Larson's tear-filled gaze.

"Rosalie! Thank goodness you're awake! Ricky's gone. Please, you must hold yourself together."

That too-familiar voice hit me with the sudden realization that I'd been reborn on the very day I gave my son, Ricky Lambert, the wrong injection and caused his "death".

I stared at the crocodile tears streaked across Wendy's face as white-hot rage surged through me.

In my past life, the so-called loving wife of my younger brother-in-law had joined forces with my husband, Terence Lambert, to dump Ricky in an orphanage. Then, she pretended to make a painful sacrifice by having me adopt and raise the ungrateful brat, Ryan Lambert, for them.

And I, like a blind fool, never saw through their vicious scheme.

Every time Wendy stopped by to visit her son, I'd volunteer for overtime, just to give her and Ryan more time together.

Now, thinking back, I could almost hear them cackling behind my back, mocking me as the world's biggest sucker.

My nails dug deep into my palms as I forced down the hatred boiling in my chest.

I'd take my time and make them pay for every single thing they'd done.

Phenobarbital didn't kill right away, which meant they had to be hiding Ricky somewhere.

Without wasting another second, I threw off the blanket and bolted for the door.

My sudden movement startled Wendy.

"Rosalie, what are you doing? Even if Ricky's gone, you have to stay strong. You're still young, and you can always have another baby."

Another baby? I almost laughed in her face.

Ever since Ryan moved in with us, Terence and I hadn't shared a single intimate moment. If we got even a little closer, he'd make a loud scene and broadcast it to the entire neighborhood.

In an age where newlyweds caught making normal nighttime noises were dragged out and paraded through the streets in disgrace, Terence and I turned into the most intimate strangers.

Now everything made sense.

By pushing me to adopt Ryan, Wendy effortlessly secured herself a transfer to Harborstone, while also getting a free caregiver to raise her son and a built-in spy to keep tabs on Terence and me.

She really played her cards perfectly, killing three birds with one stone.

When Wendy scrambled to hold me back, I pinched my thigh so hard that my tears burst from my eyes in a hot rush.

"Wendy, don't stop me! Ricky's gone, and I don't want to live either! Tell me where he is. I'm going with him!"

In my past life, I'd drowned in guilt, utterly convinced I'd personally killed my own son. I hadn't even seen Ricky's body before they buried him in a rush.

Wendy flew into a panic. She had just spirited Ricky away. There was no way she could show me the corpse.

All she could do was shriek, praying the noise would bring someone running in.

True to her hopes, the door slammed open.

My gaze locked onto a pair of bloodshot eyes.

The next instant, a strong, calloused hand clamped around my neck.

As Terence burst in, Wendy released her grip on my waist, relief washing over her.

The agony of suffocation ripped through me. I stared up at Terence's bloodshot eyes, my body trembling uncontrollably.

This was a horrific deja vu. He'd flown into the same blind rage before, blaming me entirely for Ricky's death and trying to strangle the life out of me.

Only the presence of his nephew, Ryan, could ever calm him down.

Back then, guilt had silenced me. When Wendy suggested I adopt Ryan, I hadn't protested.

Instead, I clung to the pathetic hope that Ryan might somehow bring light back into our shattered home.

He did bring light—just not for me.

Air drained from my lungs, and my vision blurred at the edges.

"Daddy!"