My Husband Let My Mom Die for His Side Chick - Chapter 1: Chapter 1

When my mother died from an asthma attack—locked in her room because of my son's cruel prank—where was my doctor husband? At his ex-girlfriend's performance with our son, of course.
I was shattered. I called him over and over, my fingers trembling, my voice breaking with each unanswered ring. When he finally picked up, I barely got a word out before he snapped,
"What's your problem? It's just a performance with our kid. You're blowing up my phone like it's life or death. Always lying, always making excuses to drag me home. Stop calling!"
Then my son's voice, dripping with disdain, cut in. "Mom's so annoying! I wish Emma could be my mom instead."
Emma—ever the charmer—took the phone and laughed. "Kids say the darndest things, right? You're not actually upset, are you?"
Fine. If that's how they wanted it.
I spoke directly to my son, my voice eerily calm. "If you want her to be your mom, tell your dad to come home and divorce me."
Because by then, my mother was already gone.
She died with her eyes wide open. In just a few hours, she went from a living, breathing person to a box of ashes. The pain was unbearable, like my soul had been ripped in half.
Then my phone buzzed—a forwarded post from Emma's Instagram.
"Performance wrapped up perfectly! Check out our six-handed piano duet with my two biggest fans. How's our chemistry?"
The video showed my husband and son flanking Emma at the piano, their fingers moving in perfect sync, laughing like they were some picture-perfect family.
And my husband's comment? "Calling us clingy already? You ungrateful little thing."
Emma's reply made my stomach twist. "Hmph! You know exactly how grateful I am… especially after last night. ;)"
The pain in my chest spread like wildfire.
While they were playing house, my mother was gasping for air, alone.
While they were flirting shamelessly, her body was being wheeled into the crematorium.
They got their perfect moment. But what about my mom? Who was going to bring her back?
The hatred burned inside me.
When I realized my mom was in trouble, I called 911, but the ambulance wasn't fast enough. I raced home, screaming into the phone for Jacob to go help her—Emma's venue was minutes away.
But he didn't believe me.
"Abigail, you know I hate being lied to." His voice softened, sickeningly sweet. "I don't want to miss a second of Emma's performance. Be good and don't cause trouble."
I begged, my voice cracking. "For the sake of my father—who saved your entire family—please, Jacob. I'm not lying!"
He only got angrier. "Enough! How long are you going to use your father's death to manipulate me?"
Then my son's voice, impatient. "Dad, ignore her. Look—Emma's on stage!"
At 3:09 PM, I screamed, "DON'T HANG UP! Jacob, I'm begging you—my mom is dying!"
His patience ran out.
"Then let her die."
And she did.
While their six-handed piano video went viral. While Emma gained thousands of new followers.
After the funeral, after signing the divorce papers, I collapsed into bed, numb.
Three days later, they finally came back.
Jacob barged in, ripping the blanket off me. "Is dinner ready? I texted you. Why are you still sleeping?" His disgusted glare made me feel like garbage.
Lucas pinched his nose. "Dad, I'm hungry. Let's go find Emma. Let this dirty mom sleep herself to death."
My heart froze.
This was the son I nearly died bringing into the world. The one I stayed up with night after night, soothing his cries, feeding him, loving him.
And his birthday wish? For Emma to replace me.
Like father, like son—both obsessed with the same woman.
Staring at him, my grief turned to rage.
I grabbed him, shaking. "You knew Grandma had asthma! Why did you lock her in that room? Do you even realize you killed her?"