On my daughter's birthday, my wife fed her sleeping pills.
She cried and asked me, "If there is a next life, I don't want Tingting to suffer like this."
I said, "There won't be a next life. Tingting is my daughter. I will make those people pay with their lives. If you still love me, live well with our daughter. I won't let anyone hurt you both again."
She cried, shaking her head, and forced a smile, "It's all too late."
I watched her cry and smile, feeling a wave of pain in my heart.
I love her.
The sleeping pills were bought by me for her.
If she fed them to our daughter, I wouldn't blame her.
I just went to the supermarket, and when I came back, my husband and son were acting weird.
My son kept looking at me like he wanted to say something but hesitated, so I thought he wanted a new toy again.
In the end, my son Duoduo secretly told me, "Mom, Dad wants to kill you."
That night, my husband whispered in my ear, "Honey, be careful with Duoduo."
I didn't expect that a week later a neighbor saw my husband dead near the flower bed downstairs.
My brother committed suicide.
After he died, I received a text message from him:
"Don't trust Mom."
In the third year after my roommate trafficked me to her hometown,
I had given birth to two children for her foolish brother.
And she, holding onto my boyfriend,
smiled and said I deserved it.
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