he Day He Chose Her Over Our Dying Son, I Chose Vengeance - Chapter 18: Chapter 18
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Ryan's smile froze on his face. "Lina, what... what nonsense are you talking?"
I regarded him calmly and continued:
"You don't actually believe you became the youngest chief surgeon in the hospital's history because of your mediocre suturing skills, do you?"
The color drained from Ryan's face as he staggered backward.
"Impossible. That's absolutely impossible! If the hospital was truly yours, why would you—"
I chuckled softly, finishing his thought.
"Why would I demean myself by being your assistant?"
"Because, of course, I truly loved you once."
Ryan stood stunned, a flicker of hope crossing his eyes.
I stood and pulled a stack of documents from my bag.
"But thanks to your persistent presence over the past month, I've gained clarity. I've decided to give you a grand gift."
The documents scattered across the floor, and with each fluttering page, Ryan's expression grew increasingly ashen.
"All these years, I knew about everything you did behind my back."
I bent down and picked up one sheet, waving it gently.
"Tax evasion, organ trafficking, 'providing' young girls to wealthy clients, and of course, your proudest achievement—your surrogate baby business chain."
"One hundred million for Claire's baby—you were quite generous."
His knees hit the floor heavily as his trembling fingers reached for the documents.
I smiled and stepped back, gesturing for him to stay calm.
"Don't rush. These are just copies. The originals have already been sent to the prosecutor's office."
Police sirens grew louder outside. Ryan jerked his head up, his pupils contracting sharply.
I calmly adjusted my sleeves as police officers appeared at the door.
"Don't forget to sign the divorce papers. After all, you're going to be quite busy from now on."
As he was led away by police, I felt no relief.
For years, I had desperately prayed for a child without success.
With Ryan committing such unconscionable acts behind my back, it's no wonder my baby refused to come to this world.
Everyone who hurt me will pay. Next, it's Claire's turn.
I stood looking at the unconscious Claire, her perpetually haughty face finally peaceful.
I observed her legs, fresh from bone-lengthening surgery, with cold detachment.
My best friend, red-eyed with anger, protested: "After everything she did to you, all you're giving her is height enhancement surgery? That's too merciful!"
I flipped through her medical records with a slight smile.
"Over these past two months, she's been your regular customer, contributing significantly to your business."
My finger traced a list of procedures: "Facelifts, leg slimming injections, spot removal... yesterday she even begged for growth hormones. The funniest part? She was taking pregnancy preservation medicine throughout all these procedures."
Seeing my friend still fuming, I embraced her and patiently explained:
"Now she's gotten her wish—she's finally 'taller.'"
The surgical consent form clearly outlined risks including "possible lifelong limping" and other complications.
Yet Claire, desperate to secure Ryan's wavering affection, willingly paid a premium for bone-lengthening surgery during pregnancy, begging my friend to perform it.
I had introduced her to my friend who owned the cosmetic clinic out of kindness, but it became the tool of her undoing.
Beneath Claire's swollen belly, her legs were rotting and festering.
In the operating room, she howled hysterically at the sight of her twisted, deformed legs.
The wounds from steel pin insertions were infected and putrid, but they didn't dare administer a second dose of anesthesia.
The beauty she prized above all else had become the shackle that would confine her for life.
Outside, the morning sun broke through the clouds—our future path bright and brilliant.
Ryan would spend the rest of his life in prison.
And I continued running the cat café and got a new phone.
Watching a kitten's lazy posture, I raised my phone. As I pressed the shutter, I suddenly realized—this was the first time my photo gallery wasn't dominated by Ryan.
Before, my lens had always followed him:
His profile at the operating table, his silhouette hunched over paperwork late at night, even the slight furrow of his brow in sleep.
Now, my camera captured myself—my apron covered in fur while grooming cats, my focused profile while adjusting the new coffee machine, and my hair tips kissed by sunlight during an afternoon nap.
I smiled with genuine relief.
At last, I had learned to turn life's lens toward myself, allowing every ray of light to fall on landscapes that truly belonged to me.
I regarded him calmly and continued:
"You don't actually believe you became the youngest chief surgeon in the hospital's history because of your mediocre suturing skills, do you?"
The color drained from Ryan's face as he staggered backward.
"Impossible. That's absolutely impossible! If the hospital was truly yours, why would you—"
I chuckled softly, finishing his thought.
"Why would I demean myself by being your assistant?"
"Because, of course, I truly loved you once."
Ryan stood stunned, a flicker of hope crossing his eyes.
I stood and pulled a stack of documents from my bag.
"But thanks to your persistent presence over the past month, I've gained clarity. I've decided to give you a grand gift."
The documents scattered across the floor, and with each fluttering page, Ryan's expression grew increasingly ashen.
"All these years, I knew about everything you did behind my back."
I bent down and picked up one sheet, waving it gently.
"Tax evasion, organ trafficking, 'providing' young girls to wealthy clients, and of course, your proudest achievement—your surrogate baby business chain."
"One hundred million for Claire's baby—you were quite generous."
His knees hit the floor heavily as his trembling fingers reached for the documents.
I smiled and stepped back, gesturing for him to stay calm.
"Don't rush. These are just copies. The originals have already been sent to the prosecutor's office."
Police sirens grew louder outside. Ryan jerked his head up, his pupils contracting sharply.
I calmly adjusted my sleeves as police officers appeared at the door.
"Don't forget to sign the divorce papers. After all, you're going to be quite busy from now on."
As he was led away by police, I felt no relief.
For years, I had desperately prayed for a child without success.
With Ryan committing such unconscionable acts behind my back, it's no wonder my baby refused to come to this world.
Everyone who hurt me will pay. Next, it's Claire's turn.
I stood looking at the unconscious Claire, her perpetually haughty face finally peaceful.
I observed her legs, fresh from bone-lengthening surgery, with cold detachment.
My best friend, red-eyed with anger, protested: "After everything she did to you, all you're giving her is height enhancement surgery? That's too merciful!"
I flipped through her medical records with a slight smile.
"Over these past two months, she's been your regular customer, contributing significantly to your business."
My finger traced a list of procedures: "Facelifts, leg slimming injections, spot removal... yesterday she even begged for growth hormones. The funniest part? She was taking pregnancy preservation medicine throughout all these procedures."
Seeing my friend still fuming, I embraced her and patiently explained:
"Now she's gotten her wish—she's finally 'taller.'"
The surgical consent form clearly outlined risks including "possible lifelong limping" and other complications.
Yet Claire, desperate to secure Ryan's wavering affection, willingly paid a premium for bone-lengthening surgery during pregnancy, begging my friend to perform it.
I had introduced her to my friend who owned the cosmetic clinic out of kindness, but it became the tool of her undoing.
Beneath Claire's swollen belly, her legs were rotting and festering.
In the operating room, she howled hysterically at the sight of her twisted, deformed legs.
The wounds from steel pin insertions were infected and putrid, but they didn't dare administer a second dose of anesthesia.
The beauty she prized above all else had become the shackle that would confine her for life.
Outside, the morning sun broke through the clouds—our future path bright and brilliant.
Ryan would spend the rest of his life in prison.
And I continued running the cat café and got a new phone.
Watching a kitten's lazy posture, I raised my phone. As I pressed the shutter, I suddenly realized—this was the first time my photo gallery wasn't dominated by Ryan.
Before, my lens had always followed him:
His profile at the operating table, his silhouette hunched over paperwork late at night, even the slight furrow of his brow in sleep.
Now, my camera captured myself—my apron covered in fur while grooming cats, my focused profile while adjusting the new coffee machine, and my hair tips kissed by sunlight during an afternoon nap.
I smiled with genuine relief.
At last, I had learned to turn life's lens toward myself, allowing every ray of light to fall on landscapes that truly belonged to me.
End of he Day He Chose Her Over Our Dying Son, I Chose Vengeance Chapter 18. Continue reading Chapter 19 or return to he Day He Chose Her Over Our Dying Son, I Chose Vengeance book page.