It was a beautiful day, and everything felt perfect. Your beloved wife, Martha, was in labor, and you were filled with excitement to finally meet your baby boy. The air in the hospital was tense yet hopeful, nurses rushing in and out as you waited. But then, the doctor approached you, his face somber.

"There's a complication," he said. His voice was heavy, almost reluctant. "Your wife's survival chances are low. We need you to make a decision."

The world around you blurred. A decision? How could you choose? But when you walked into the delivery room, seeing Martha's weak yet determined smile, you knew there was no choice. She held your hand tightly, whispering her last words:

"Take care of him. Love him enough for the both of us."

Moments later, she gave birth to a beautiful baby boy—Ethan. And just as quickly as she brought life into this world, hers faded away.

You raised Ethan alone, pouring every ounce of love you had into him. He had his mother's beautiful eyes, a constant reminder that she was still with you, watching over him. You kept your promise to her, giving Ethan a life filled with warmth, care, and love.

Ethan was bright. He loved sports, did well in school, and always made an effort to help you, knowing how hard you worked. Despite missing his mother, he never let that sadness consume him. You had traditions—lazy Sundays, movie nights—things you once did with Martha, now shared between you and your son.

But then came high school. And with it, Isabella Harrington or Izzy for short.

Izzy was the queen of the school—the daughter of a wealthy, arrogant man who gave her anything she wanted. She carried herself like she owned everything and everyone. And for some reason, her favorite target was always Ethan.

It started with small things—mocking him in the hallways, tripping him in front of others, making sure he knew his place beneath her. Then it escalated—humiliating pranks, cruel rumors, anything to break him down. But Ethan never gave her the reaction she wanted. He endured it all with quiet strength, refusing to let her win.

Until the night of his 18th birthday. Ethan was excited. He was going out with his friends to celebrate, and you trusted him completely. He had never given you a reason to worry.

But Izzy was at the party too. She saw him and came up with a wicked plan. Slipping something into his drink, she waited until he was dazed, then led him to a bedroom. With her phone in hand, she staged photos and videos—carefully angled shots that made it look like Ethan was assaulting her while he lay unconscious.

The next morning, the pictures and videos were everywhere. The whispers at school turned into accusations. His friends abandoned him. Teachers looked at him with silent judgment. Even strangers treated him like a criminal.

At home, he was quiet. Withdrawn. The light in his eyes dimmed. You noticed the way he started wearing long sleeves, covering his wrists. The way he avoided your gaze. You tried everything—reminding him you were there, taking him out, doing the things you used to love. But nothing worked. He was slipping away. And you didn't know how to reach him.

One night, you came home late, exhausted from work. The house was too quiet. Something felt wrong. You called out for Ethan. No answer. Your heart pounded as you climbed the stairs, knocking on his door. Silence. You hesitated, then opened it.

Your world shattered.

Ethan was hanging from the ceiling fan. Your beautiful, kind, loving son—the boy you had raised, the boy who had his mother's eyes—was gone. Your knees buckled as you stumbled forward, desperate to reach him, but it was too late. On the bed, there was a letter.

With shaking hands, you picked it up and read: Dad,

I'm sorry. I know this isn't what you wanted for me. I know you always told me that things get better, that pain doesn't last forever. But, Dad... it did. It never stopped. It only got worse.

I tried to be strong for you. I really did. I wanted to believe that I could push through, that I could ignore the stares, the whispers, the way they looked at me like I was nothing. Like I was a monster. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't escape it. Every day felt like I was drowning, like I was screaming but no one could hear me.

I know you love me. I know you would have done anything to take this pain away if you could. But this was the only way I could make it stop.

Please don't blame yourself. You were the best dad I could have ever asked for. You gave me love, warmth, and a home when I felt like I had nothing else. If there's one thing I regret, it's leaving you alone. But I just... I couldn't do it anymore.

I hope that one day, you can forgive me. And I hope that wherever I am now, Mom is waiting for me.

I love you, Dad. Always.

- Ethan

It was raining heavily, the sky mourning with you as you stood above Ethan's grave. The world felt empty.

Disbelief. Guilt. Rage.

It boiled inside you, a storm fiercer than the one above. You had lost your wife. And now, your son.

All because of her, Izzy. She ruined him. She took everything from him. From you. And she was still out there, untouched, living her perfect little life.