Chapter 1

I dragged myself forward with my broken leg while gathering the children's belongings, speaking softly to them.

"Nate, make sure you look after Cece when you're up there. Have fun with all the superhero figures and teddy bears over there."

That day, Lionel Brooks was about to leave with Fiona Smith and her child. In the rubble, my son, Nate Brooks, lay with a steel beam piercing his small chest, blood dripping.

He looked at me and asked, "Mommy, will Daddy come back soon?"

Cece Brooks chimed in confidently, "Of course, he will! He's our daddy after all."

It was heartbreaking to hear them say that. I yelled, "Lionel, are you blind? Fiona and her kid only have scratches while our children are…"

Before I could finish, Lionel turned to me with reddened eyes and snapped. "Aster, don't be ridiculous! I'm the manager of this museum, and during this earthquake, I have to treat everyone equally. I can't prioritize Nate and Cece just because they're my children, and I certainly can't abandon Fiona because of your jealousy! Get your priorities straight! Besides, the rescue team is almost here. Would it kill them to wait a bit? Stop being so dramatic!"

Lionel carried Fiona's child with one arm while supporting her with the other as they headed toward the exit. As she passed by me, Fiona turned and flashed a smug smile.

I knew this was not the time for arguments—I just wanted to save my children. Hearing their painful cries, I forced myself to stay strong.

"Nate, Cece, hang in there just a little longer. I'm going to get you out…" I struggled with my broken leg, desperately trying to lift the concrete slab that was crushing my children.

My fingernails broke, my hands bloodied, but that cement did not budge. I knelt and begged anyone around with lesser injuries to help me. After four endless hours of effort from the rescue team and volunteers, both children were finally transported to the hospital.

Before being rushed into emergency surgery, Nate tried to comfort me, saying, "Don't cry, Mommy. I'm not in pain." But then, he coughed up large amounts of blood.

The doctor rushed out, asking urgently, "The children have Rh-negative blood. Which parent has this blood type?"

"Their father," I replied.

The doctor insisted, "Call him immediately for a blood transfusion. We might be able to save at least one of them!"

My whole body trembled as I called Lionel repeatedly. After more than a dozen attempts, he finally answered with immediate anger.

"Aster, why do you keep calling me? Fiona just got Eva to sleep, and your calls woke her up! Do you have any idea how hard it is to calm a traumatized child?"