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As the temperature plunged to thirty degrees below zero, a desperate local plea shot to the top of the trending lists: [How can I make my ruthless adoptive mother disappear quietly in the blizzard?] The attached photo showed an arm covered in bruises, yet the custom Rolex on the wrist was unmistakably the thirtieth-birthday gift I'd given my adoptive son, Edmund. Thirty years of raising him with unwavering devotion, giving him everything he ever wanted… only to end up with a viper who now wished me dead. All supermarkets across the country had already shut down, and transportation was on the brink of collapsing. I worried he'd be cold and hungry; meanwhile, he was busy plotting my death. Swallowing the ache in my chest, I called back the driver I'd sent to deliver food and supplies to him. A second later, Edmund rang, his voice bursting with excitement. "Mom! Don't bother sending the driver anymore. I'm already on my way with your daughter-in-law and grandson. With weather this bad, I have to be the one to take care of you."