My Dead Mother's Tin Lunchbox

I had a heart attack and collapsed straight into the fresh, boiling asphalt at the highway construction site.

It has been two days. My body is already bloated from the heat, but my hand, stiff with rigor mortis, is still gripping that old tin lunchbox.

People keep passing by, yet no one has noticed me. Honestly, I’m relieved.

After all, I was just a dirty, uneducated old woman who ran a greasy food cart at the construction site. I was an embarrassment.

My daughter, Chloe, always hated how low-class I was. After her billionaire biological mother claimed her back, I didn't dare to call her…