Before Dying, My Son Pleaded With My Rich Husband Three Times for Saving Me
Forced to provide a heart transplant for my husband's beloved Isabelle Sherman, I died in the hallway of the private hospital he personally founded.
Before dying, my six-year-old son cried and pleaded with him three times.
The first time, my son took the man's hand and said I was vomiting blood.
The man sneered, "Finally showing some improvement, you even know to teach the child to lie."
Then he had the bodyguards drive my son out of the ward.
The second time, my son clutched his sleeve and said I was in so much pain that I had started to talk nonsense.
The man frowned, "Isn't it just a heart transplant? The doctor said she won't die."
The bodyguards stepped forward and once again pulled my son out of the ward.
The third time, my son lay on the ground, clutching his trouser leg tightly, crying that I had already fallen unconscious.
The man finally got angry; he grabbed my son by the neck and threw him out of the ward.
"I told you, Nina Norris won’t die. If you come to disturb Bella's rest again, I'll throw the both of you out of the hospital."
To save me, my son pawned his most cherished longevity lock to the nurse.
"Auntie, I don’t need to live a long life anymore, I just want my mommy to live."
The nurse took his longevity lock and prepared to switch me to the last available ward.
But my husband's beloved Isabelle Sherman blocked the ward's entrance with her pet dog and said:
"Sorry, little one, your father is worried I’ll be bored if I don’t see my dog. This ward is reserved for my dog."