Love Was My Mom’s Farewell

In the seventh year of my dad's affair, my mom was diagnosed with a terminal illness.

Her first reaction was to kneel and beg the doctor not to tell my dad.

Aunt Rachel, who worked at the hospital, cried in frustration:

"Willow, why do you have to torture yourself like this? Do you think this will make that scumbag cry and wake up to reality? Using your own death to punish someone else—don't you have any self-respect?"

But Mom just smiled, her gaze falling tenderly on me.

"I don't need his regret."

"I just need to secure a bright future for my Sienna."

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