Chapter 1
That year, my son was diagnosed with a severe illness, and I faced crushing medical bills.
My husband, Landon Fisher, was paralyzed in a car accident and lost his job.
I divorced him and abandoned everything, taking only our healthy six-year-old daughter with me.
Five years later, my genius son graduated from university, admitted through a special program at a top school.
By then, Landon had risen as a rising star in the business world, attending academic lectures alongside our son.
At a conference hall, a professor casually asked with a smile, "Who do you hope sees your success today?"
My seventeen-year-old son's expression was cold and mature beyond his years. "I guess it should be my disgusting birth mother and my equally ungrateful sister," he said.
Landon chuckled softly, and his eyes revealed the same deep-seated hatred.
Until one day, they received my daughter Anna Fisher's piggy bank.
The first note inside, in Anna's crooked, childish handwriting, read: [Mom said when this piggy bank is full, I can leave the hospital.]
The last note, written in Landon's familiar, elegant script, said: [Goodbye. I'm going to be with my baby girl now.]
*****
On the night they got the piggy bank, Landon Fisher and Owen Fisher had just walked out of the conference hall.
Landon's left ring finger no longer bore the wedding band from our marriage, but instead a new diamond ring.
He was holding hands with a young woman, most likely his new wife.
The rising star in business and the seventeen-year-old prodigy were both in the spotlight.
The media cameras and the crowd trailing behind them lingered for ages before finally fading away.
Landon stepped away from the crowd and stood beneath the streetlight, looking down as he lit a cigarette.
From a dimly lit spot nearby, a young woman in her early twenties stood for a long moment, hesitating, before finally hurrying over.
She held out the piggy bank to him, her hands trembling slightly. "Are you Mr. Fisher?" she asked.
Landon looked at her through the cigarette smoke, then at the piggy bank in her hands. His gaze quickly turned icy.
Taped to the piggy bank was a note, in my familiar handwriting: [Anna's discharge countdown.]
Five years on, the note was already yellowing with age.
After a brief moment of shock, Landon scoffed, "What kind of trick is Queenie pulling this time? Just spit it out."
Owen, once gentle and warm, now wore a look of resentment and loathing. "They disappeared for five years. Did they really think they could hide from us forever?"
The young woman's eyes brimmed with tears, her voice quivering. "T-They've both passed away years ago.
"For all these years, I've been trying to find the Landon and Owen they wrote about in their letters. And today, I finally saw you both on the news."
Landon gave a sarcastic chuckle.
Maybe it was the smoke, but his eyes reddened as he laughed, "So, they've been tragically dead for five years, huh? What kind of hidden struggles were they hiding?
"How much do you expect me and Owen to cough up to prove we're heartbroken?"
The young woman stared in disbelief at Landon and Owen, the same father and son who, in Anna's and my letters, had always seemed so gentle and kind.
Then her eyes shifted to the woman standing beside Landon. She couldn't believe how much things had changed.
Her eyes were red, her expression a storm of heartbreak and anger. She clutched the piggy bank tightly to her chest. "If you don't want it, then so be it. I'll lay it to rest with their ashes."
Landon's eyes glinted with scorn as he coolly pulled the piggy bank from her grasp.
His tone was laced with mockery. "Since she has staged your whole performance, wouldn't it be a pity if no one stuck around to watch?"
As Landon spoke, he pulled out the first note from the piggy bank.
He unfolded it and read the childish handwriting, his face blank and unmoved.