I died in a car accident. A month later, Mom finally remembered that she had a biological son. She went back to our hometown, but only to save her beloved stepson. The villagers told her I was dead. She refused to believe them and even threatened to stop paying for Grandma's medication at the hospital. She never accepted that I was gone. Even after the urn containing my ashes was delivered, she still thought I was putting on an act. She smashed the urn and scattered my ashes across the floor. But later, when she learned the truth about my death, she broke down.
