A Mother's Vengeance: Love Lost

A Mother's Vengeance: Love Lost

Bing Xialuo

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The sharp pain in my son Timmy's leg was the start of it all. A snakebite. I rushed him to Mercy General, where my older son David worked as an ER doctor. He would save his little brother. But the moment I burst into the emergency room, collapsing with Timmy limp in my arms, a blonde nurse named Ashley Jones, David' s girlfriend, turned on me. She met my desperate plea for help with a cold refusal, demanding I fill out forms. When I begged her to get David, her eyes hardened. She shoved me, snarling, "Get in line like everyone else." She scoffed at my claims of being David' s mother, dismissing Timmy as a "little brat," even threatening to let him die. She stole my phone, smashing it when she saw the silver sparrow charm-identical to hers-on my keychain, screaming about David being a "cheating bastard." Ashley even called her brother Kevin, a brute, to deal with me. Other nurses and patients stared but did nothing as Ashley, ignoring Timmy' s fading breath, reveled in my anguish. She kicked my spilled purse, scattering my ID, and mocked my desperate pleas for help. She demanded I kowtow, to bow my head, begging for her mercy, while filming my humiliation on her phone. As Timmy' s lips turned blue, I swallowed my pride, head pressed against the cold floor, whispering, "I'm sorry. Please... help my son." But even that wasn't enough for the monster. She demanded I slap myself, ten times. It was then, as I raised my hand, that I saw Timmy. Still. Silent. He was gone. My son was dead. And in that moment, all my humiliation, all my fear, was burned away, replaced by a volcanic, white-hot rage.

Chapter 1

The sharp pain in my son Timmy's leg was the start of it all. A snakebite.

I rushed him to Mercy General, where my older son David worked as an ER doctor. He would save his little brother.

But the moment I burst into the emergency room, collapsing with Timmy limp in my arms, a blonde nurse named Ashley Jones, David' s girlfriend, turned on me. She met my desperate plea for help with a cold refusal, demanding I fill out forms.

When I begged her to get David, her eyes hardened. She shoved me, snarling, "Get in line like everyone else." She scoffed at my claims of being David' s mother, dismissing Timmy as a "little brat," even threatening to let him die. She stole my phone, smashing it when she saw the silver sparrow charm-identical to hers-on my keychain, screaming about David being a "cheating bastard."

Ashley even called her brother Kevin, a brute, to deal with me. Other nurses and patients stared but did nothing as Ashley, ignoring Timmy' s fading breath, reveled in my anguish. She kicked my spilled purse, scattering my ID, and mocked my desperate pleas for help.

She demanded I kowtow, to bow my head, begging for her mercy, while filming my humiliation on her phone. As Timmy' s lips turned blue, I swallowed my pride, head pressed against the cold floor, whispering, "I'm sorry. Please... help my son."

But even that wasn't enough for the monster. She demanded I slap myself, ten times. It was then, as I raised my hand, that I saw Timmy.

Still. Silent. He was gone.

My son was dead. And in that moment, all my humiliation, all my fear, was burned away, replaced by a volcanic, white-hot rage.

Chapter 1

The sharp pain in my son' s leg was the start of it all.

A snake, coiled in the tall grass behind our house, had struck Timmy. Two small puncture wounds, dark and angry, were already swelling on his seven-year-old calf. His face was pale, his breathing fast.

I scooped him into my arms, his small body trembling against mine.

"It's okay, sweetie. Mommy's got you. We're going to the hospital."

I drove faster than I ever had before, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. I was heading to Mercy General, the big hospital downtown. My older son, David, worked there. He was an ER doctor. He would know what to do. He would save his little brother.

I ran through the automatic doors of the emergency room, Timmy limp in my arms. The noise and chaos hit me like a wall.

"Help! My son was bitten by a snake! He needs help!"

A nurse with blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail turned from a counter. Her name tag read Ashley Jones. She looked me up and down, her eyes cold.

"Fill out these forms," she said, sliding a clipboard toward me.

"There's no time! He needs antivenom now! My son, Dr. David Miller, works here. Please, can you get him?" I begged, my voice cracking.

Her expression tightened at the mention of David's name. She looked from my face to Timmy's, a flicker of something ugly in her eyes.

"David Miller?" she said, her voice dripping with suspicion. "So you're one of them."

"One of who? What are you talking about? My son is dying!"

She laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Don't play dumb with me. I see women like you all the time, showing up with your little problems, thinking his name is a magic password."

Suddenly, she shoved me. I stumbled back, nearly dropping Timmy.

"Get in line like everyone else," she snapped.

"What are you doing? He needs a doctor!" I screamed, clutching Timmy tighter.

She stepped closer, her face twisted with rage. "I'm David's girlfriend. We're a match made in heaven."

Her voice dropped to a vicious whisper. "And you dare to challenge me with a bastard?"

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My eyes snapped open. The dorm room ceiling, with its familiar water stain shaped like a crooked smile, loomed above. Across the room, Brianna Jones hummed softly, applying makeup. She wore a cheap copy of my cashmere sweater. My heart hammered against my ribs. This wasn' t right. This was weeks ago. The memories crashed down: the Paris program acceptance, the "going away" party, the sickening taste, then absolute darkness. Brianna had poisoned me. I saw her smirk, remembered collapsing. Yet here she was, her reflection smiling sweetly in her compact mirror, her voice falsely cheerful. "Morning, sleepyhead," she chirped. This was the ambitious girl from a small town. My roommate. The one who wanted my life. I stared at her, the image of her malicious triumph at my party seared into my brain. The subtle digs, the way she' d implied I was the copycat, her constant imitation of my style, my social media. She' d meticulously cataloged me, then painstakingly isolated me, even turning away Liam, the hockey captain I genuinely liked. All my kindness burned away in the hospital bed I now only remembered. "You okay, Ava?" she asked, a tilt to her head. "You look like you've seen a ghost." My parents always told me I was too trusting, too eager to see the good in people. They were right. This inexplicable situation felt like a cruel joke, yet it was real. The date on my phone confirmed it. Several weeks before the party. Before she tried to kill me. I had a second chance. And this time, I wouldn' t be naive. I wouldn' t be kind to the snake in my room. This time, Ava Miller wouldn't be a doormat. This time, I would fight.

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