My wife went crazy after my son and I died

My wife's ex-boyfriend went blind, and she was using our kid as leverage, demanding I donate an eye.

"Honey, it's just one eye for you, but he'll lose me forever!"

Cancer was eating me alive, but I agreed, a grim smile playing on my lips. Then, I turned around and finalized arrangements for my son's funeral.

By the time we were both gone, my wife had completely lost it.

1.

Outside my hospital room, Sarah, my wife, was on her knees, tears streaming down her face, begging.

“Jake, you’re his only hope. Mark is only thirty, and if you just swap an eye with him, he could get back on the professional race track.”

“Honey, you know I love you more than anything. I’ll take care of you forever.”

I stared down at my wife, her makeup smeared, hair a mess.

“I need to look after our son…”

“Oh, for crying out loud! He’s practically a vegetable. A nanny can handle him.”

Her cruel words hit me like a series of punches, each one colder than the last, sending shivers down my spine.

She saw me hesitating, and her expression twisted. “Jake, if you don't do this, I swear I’ll take Billy to the roof.”

My body stiffened. A chill washed over me, sending me into a tremble.

She was absolutely capable of it.

After Billy was born, Sarah had gone through some bad post-partum depression. I took time off work, cooked, bathed her, emptied the bedpan, didn't leave her side for a second.

But when she saw the news report, “Pro Race Driver Mark Sterling Spotted With New Flame,” she’d walked right up to the rooftop, Billy in her arms, ready to jump.

The air bags saved her, she walked away without a scratch.

Billy was never the same; a high fever sent his mind into a downward spiral.

“Jake, once Mark gets his sight back, we can all move to Europe and be done with this town.”

Europe?

The memory of Billy’s small frame flashed in my head, and I gave a weak nod.

Sarah grinned, threw her arms around me, kissing me hard on the neck before bounding out the door.

I laughed without humor.

She didn’t know, but our son was already dead.

2.

Billy never got to say goodbye to his mother.

That night, freezing and late, I couldn’t get a cab. I ran, barefoot, holding my son tightly in my arms. The pain in my gut was a hot, twisting knife. I ran.

Billy’s eyes were squeezed shut, his small hand clutched a Barbie doll. He kept murmuring for his mommy.

After trying everyone we knew, Sarah finally answered her phone.

“Jake, what do you want? I’m busy. Don’t call me again.”

The last things I heard were the screeching of race car engines and Sarah’s excited cheers.

“Mark, I love you!”

My eyes burned as I tried calling back, refusing to believe she could be so heartless, putting her ex before her own family.

The call wouldn’t go through; she’d blocked me.

A cold dread settled in my chest.

In the early hours of the morning, Billy slipped away in my arms. I didn’t move, the phone slipping out of my numb fingers.

…

I buried my son up on the hill behind the orphanage, placing...