- 3.
Back home, I immediately began planning how to purchase supplies to protect myself.
Halfway through my plan, Ethan returned with our son.
Seeing his smug, satisfied expression, I guessed he had claimed the thirty million.
I couldn’t be bothered to deal with the two of them and continued drawing and writing on my tablet.
My son ran over, shouting, “I want to go to Miami with Dad. Hurry up and pack our things!”
“I’m not your nanny. Find someone else to do it.”
My son angrily threw a water cup at me, “You’re my mom; you have to do everything for me! Or I’ll have Dad hit you.”
The shattered glass cut my leg. Looking at my son’s righteous expression, I felt like killing this little brat.
Before having him, I was a high–ranking executive. But because he couldn’t be left alone, I became a stay–at–home mom for ten years.
In the last life, when the heatwave hit, they lived comfortably off the resources I stockpiled, while I was left to die in the basement.
I begged my son for a way out. But to please Chloe, he blocked the basement vent, letting me pass out.
I didn’t die instantly. I watched them take a cleaver to me, heard them greedily shout:
<
“Get a bowl to catch it! We can drink the blood!”
“She’s over 100 pounds, enough for us to drink for a while!”
My son jumped first to bite into my vein.
Take a step back, and the sea will be vast. But the more I endured, the angrier I got.
I slapped my son, swelling his cheek.
He tried to bite me, yelling for me to go back to the countryside.
I glanced at Ethan, who was watching the drama, and calmly said:
“If you don’t control the kid, I won’t get the marriage certificate in thirty days.”
Only then did Ethan intervene, “You gave birth to him. What’s wrong with packing his clothes?”
“Did I reproduce asexually?”
Ethan couldn’t out–argue me, so he awkwardly packed some short sleeves and shorts, dragging our son, who made faces at He pretended to be affectionate, asking me to stay for a while.
I didn’t agree.
me, out the door.
The city apartment would soon lose water and power in the apocalypse, not only becoming useless but also making us targets for neighbors.
This time, let it be the Graham family’s grave!
