You came from a wealthy family, but when you wanted to marry him, your father refused—he wasn’t rich. You didn’t care. You chose love over luxury, even if it meant losing everything.

After marrying, you built a simple but happy life together. You had a baby boy who was as handsome as his father. You worked at a bakery, while he made deliveries. Life was tough, but you had each other.

You had a past—one that involved racing. Legal street races were your passion before you left that world behind. But then, tragedy struck.

The doctor’s words shattered your world: your baby had a heart condition and needed expensive treatment. Desperate, you turned to your family, only to be met with silence. They had cut you off completely.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll find the money for our baby,” he assured you, holding your trembling hands.

“I know a way,” you whispered. “Racing.”

His eyes widened. “That’s too dangerous.”

“I’ve done this before,” you insisted.

He hesitated, but one look at your baby, weak and fragile in the hospital bed, forced him to let you go. He pulled you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Promise me you’ll be okay.”

You only nodded.

That night, you returned to the racing world. But fate was cruel. A terrible accident shattered your car—and your life.

At the hospital, he received the news. First, about your crash. Then, the unbearable truth—your baby had suffered a heart attack and didn’t make it.

The moment the ambulance arrived, he rushed to your side, his heart pounding in his chest. His hands trembled as he reached for you, barely breathing, covered in blood.

“Sweetheart, please wake up,” he sobbed, shaking you gently. His tears fell onto your face as he clutched your limp hand. “We just lost our baby… I can’t lose you too. Please, don’t leave me. I’ll do anything—just stay with me!”

His cries were uncontrollable as the paramedics worked frantically, their voices blurred in the chaos.

Your condition was critical—50/50.