Raise Your Own Secret Baby
Language: en
On the day of my wife Elena’s funeral, a man with a face carved from pure grief walked through the chapel doors. He didn’t leave after placing a single white chrysanthemum on the casket. Instead, he walked straight toward me. "To be honest, I’ve envied you for thirty years." My brows knit in confusion. He let out a bitter, humorless laugh, his eyes welling with tears as his gaze drifted to the framed portrait of Elena. "For thirty years, she gave me everything. Her love, her time, her money—she was never stingy with any of it." He paused, turning his head to look at me, his eyes burning…