Refuse to Raise His Mistress’s Son

My boyfriend had a low sperm count. So when he found an abandoned baby on the roadside, he begged me to give up my study abroad plans and adopt him.

I agreed.

We married. For thirty years, I poured my life into raising that child as my own.

Then, the year our son finally settled into his own life, I was diagnosed with a terminal illness.

Faced with astronomical medical bills, my husband and son sat me down. The message was clear: I should give up.

“It’s terminal. Why waste the money?”

“Mom, Dad’s right. I have a future to think about. Don’t be selfish.”

After I died, my husband married his first love in a joyous ceremony.

Our son even hugged his father’s first love and called her Mom.

That was when I learned the truth: our “abandoned” son was, in fact, my husband’s child with his first love all along.

When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day my boyfriend held out a baby, asking if we could keep him.

I glanced at him, then slammed the door shut. “Take him to an orphanage.”

Julian panicked. “How can you say that?!”

I looked at Julian’s self-righteous expression and gave a bitter laugh. “Why not? I know nothing about raising a child!”

Julian’s brows furrowed. “Serena, this is a life. Look how pitiful he is. We’re getting married soon anyway, wouldn’t it be nice to raise a child together ahead of time?”

Julian spoke with a sincerity that I’d heard countless times in my previous life.

Now, it sounded utterly repulsive, but back then, I actually believed him.

My parents wanted me to study abroad and pursue my dreams, but for Julian and this child, I tore up my plane ticket.

From that moment on, a long journey of sacrifice began.

In the end, after I died, my husband inherited my family’s enormous wealth and lived a blissful life with his mistress and their illegitimate child.

“He is indeed a life, and he’s pitiful. That’s why he should be sent to an orphanage, where professional caregivers can look after him.”

“But…” Julian paused. “My mom can help you!”

I scoffed internally. Help? In my last life, his mom did help for a few days.

But soon after, she had a “stroke” and became paralyzed. I ended up juggling childcare and caring for my “mother-in-law.”

It wasn’t until she died and I looked through her medical records that I realized she was never paralyzed!

She just wanted to lie around and be waited on hand and foot!

I took a deep breath. “Julian, I think I need to reconsider our relationship. You know my parents have always wanted me to study overseas.”

With that, I started to close the door.

Julian saw this and wedged his foot in the door, his face etched with anxiety, about to say something else.

Just then, hurried footsteps sounded outside.

A young man ran over. “Julian! Quick, the company needs you for something!”

Mark glanced at me, then at the bundle in Julian’s arms, his expression subtle.

I saw it and sneered inwardly.

Always the same trick.

Julian had clearly planned this, using Mark as his leverage, probably hoping I’d soften and offer to take the baby while he went to work.

Then he could smoothly offload the child into my home and easily get out of it.

This time, I didn’t say a word. I just watched him calmly, my hands clasped behind my back, a clear gesture of refusal.

Mark was still urging him.

Julian finally made up his mind, abruptly turning to me, his face pleading. He shoved the swaddled baby into my arms. “Serena! Please! I’ll come back and help you with him as soon as I’m done!”

The unexpected weight, carrying the faint scent of baby powder, crashed into my arms.

The next second, Julian was gone, vanished from sight.

The familiar yet alien sensation sent a shiver through me.

Countless fragmented memories surged forward.

Rushing him to the hospital late at night when he had a fever, my tears of joy when he first called me “Mom.”

And then, Julian snatching away my life-saving medicine, while Leo coldly said, “Mom, stop fighting it. Just go peacefully. You’ve wasted my parents’ lives, don’t waste my son’s now.”

I had given up so many opportunities, staying home to care for him.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say this child grew up sucking the very lifeblood out of me.

In the end, he became an ungrateful wretch.

I lowered my gaze to the child, gritted my teeth, and made a decision.