After Killed By the Adopted Son

My name is Tina Jones, and today marks the third anniversary of my husband Mark Green's death in a car accident. I stand before his grave; the wind is chilly, and the white chrysanthemum in my hand is heavy with morning dew, droplets spreading damp stains upon the tombstone. His smile on the headstone is gentle, yet my heart feels as if weighed down by a block of ice — the nightmare of a previous life surges up within me at this very moment. Behind me, hurried footsteps approach; my parents-in-law come briskly forward. Mother-in-law Mindy Young wears a dark red jacket, her hair neatly arranged, but her eyes gleam with a frightening intensity; Father-in-law Hugo Green followed behind, expressionless, but the hand gripping his cane tightened. "Tina!" Mindy Young stepped forward and grasped my hand; although cold, her grip was strong. "This is a child sent by Heaven out of pity for the Green Family!" I followed her gaze downward to the stone steps before the grave, where a pale gray swaddling cloth lay, inside which was wrapped a wrinkled infant boy, eyes closed and occasionally whimpering. It was this child who doomed me to endless suffering in my previous life. In that past life, I believed my parents-in-law's words, convinced he was a gift from Mark Green. I named our child Ben Green. While maintaining the company he left behind, I cared for my parents-in-law, devoting all my attention to our child. Ben was obedient as a child, but as he grew older, he cared only for profit. He wore the finest clothes and attended the most prestigious schools. The gifts I gave piled up like mountains, yet he never once offered a sincere 'thank you.' It was not until he was twenty-two, on the day I entrusted him with the company's inheritance, that Mark Green suddenly appeared at the shareholders' meeting accompanied by a woman. The woman was Melissa Lopez—appearing delicate and gentle, yet riddled with calculation. Mark Green wore a sharp suit, showing not the slightest trace of someone 'deceased.' He stepped in front of me, his voice as cold and venomous as ice: "Tina Jones, you wicked woman, how dare you steal my son!" Before I could defend myself, he shoved me to the ground violently. The back of my head struck the steps at the meeting room entrance; searing pain blurred my vision, and the last thing I saw was Ben Green's indifferent gaze and Melissa Lopez's triumphant smile. When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on the bedroom bed. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, illuminating the calendar—the date was the seventh day after Mark Green's death, exactly the day in my previous life when I went to the cemetery to reclaim my child. "Tina, it's time to visit Mark's tomb." My mother-in-law's voice came from outside the door, carrying a faint but unmistakable urgency. I took a deep breath and rose from bed, my feet sinking into the soft carpet, yet my heart was resolute: this time, I would never repeat the same mistakes. I would never accept that ungrateful child, nor allow Mark Green and Melissa Lopez's scheme to succeed.