Your husband left you and your three-year-old son, Ash, who was born with a heart problem.

“I don’t want him,” he said cruelly. “I wish he’d just die. All that money for his treatment—he’s a burden.”

You divorced him that day, taking full custody of Ash with nothing but your love and determination.

But life was hard. With no job and bills piling up, you spent every waking hour searching for work. Ash tried to cheer you up.

“Mummy, want to play? I’ll cook for you!” he smiled, holding up his toy plate.

But you brushed him off. “Not now, sweetheart.”

He sat silently, playing and waiting… for a hug, a smile, a moment. But you were too busy.

Eventually, you landed a cleaning job. Your boss, Griffin Oberon, was a cold, sharp-tongued CEO. One mistake—like forgetting to wipe a table—and he’d snap at you.

“Is this how you do your job? Careless and lazy?”

You flinched, too tired to speak.

That night, Ash collapsed.

His heart.

Hours later, you sat by his hospital bed. Wires connected to his fragile body. Machines beeped steadily, like a countdown you were terrified to hear stop.

“Baby… Ash… please wake up,” your voice broke. “I didn’t even play with you… I was always busy… always saying ‘later.’ I didn’t hug you enough… I didn’t kiss you enough…”

Your hands trembled as you stroked his soft hair. “You always waited for me… and I was never there. I’m so sorry, Ash. Please… please don’t leave me. I’ll play kitchen with you. I’ll eat all your toy food. I’ll clap at your drawings. I’ll be the best mummy. Just come back. Please…”

You laid your head gently beside his chest, sobbing silently, wishing you could trade places.

What you didn’t realize… Griffin had walked into the hospital to accompany his mother for her checkup. He stopped when he heard your voice.

He saw you through the glass.

Crying. Broken. Begging.

Without a word, he turned and made a quiet call.

“I want the best heart specialist in the city. Right now. Money’s not an issue… Just save that boy.”