The wife who pretended to be poor arranged her son's surgery in a remote small clinic. When I found my son, he was lying on the dirty operating table and not breathing. The small clinic had long since been deserted, and the only living thing still there was the flies circling around my son's wound. I cried in front of my son's body until I almost fainted, but I couldn't think of calling my wife. He went to the police station to issue a death certificate for his son, and contacted the funeral home alone to store his son's body in the morgue. I prepared a divorce agreement, sold my wife and I's marital home, and boarded a plane abroad alone. Half a month later, my wife came to me and knelt down in front of me. "Atai, can we go home?"
