Chapter 1

Five years ago, when the doctor diagnosed my two-and-a-half-year-old son with autism.

My husband squeezed my hand tightly. "Don't worry, honey! Even if I have to sell everything we own, I’ll be right here with you and our boy."

Over the next five years, I emptied my entire trust fund to pay for his therapy. But this spring, I was diagnosed with stage II breast cancer.

Late at night, right after I barely survived my third round of chemotherapy, my husband pushed open the door to my hospital room.

He threw a set of divorce papers right onto my pillow.

He didn't even glance at our son, who was seizing with a high fever on the cot next to me. His voice was filled with nothing but impatience.

"I can't carry this weight anymore. Your broken, expensive body plus a brain-dead kid? You're going to drag me to hell with you."

"I’ve already drafted the agreement. I keep the house and the car. You and that useless kid get nothing. Sign it, or I stop paying for your chemo tomorrow."

Staring at the bright red lipstick stain on the collar of his white dress shirt, I didn't even have the strength to scream at him. In absolute despair, I signed my name.

My husband sneered, grabbed the papers, and walked out. I pulled my shaking son into my arms and sobbed hysterically.

Suddenly, a small, warm hand reached up and covered my mouth.

His seizures had stopped. He snapped his eyes open, and his gaze was shockingly sharp and fierce.

This boy, who hadn't called me "Mom" once in the last five years, spoke with perfect, crystal-clear pronunciation.

"Mom, don't be scared."

"In our last life, he abandoned us and let you die in agonizing pain in a damp, rented basement."

"In this life, I am going to make him wish he was dead."