My Husband Regrets My Son’s Death

I lost my dear son, Henry, to a traffic accident. He had been on his way to one of his part-time jobs. Despite working a lot, my son was still a top scorer on the SATs.

“Mom, I don’t want treatment,” he begged with his last breath. “I just want Dad.”

In my despair, I called Matthew Foster, my husband, more than one hundred times, but he never answered.

We had been married for eighteen years, but one day, he spent all of our savings in order to pay for the treatment of his deceased comrade’s son. That got us into a debt worth one million dollars. To help him pay for it, both Henry I and worked hard to earn money. My son went as far as working five part-time jobs a day!

That accident cracked his head open and tore his stomach. He was in urgent need of money for treatment. Since Matthew was not responding, I had to leave Henry’s side to rush to his workplace, where I ended up hearing that he was throwing a party for someone else’s son because he had gotten into a prestigious school.

“Mr. Foster gave Zack a seaside mansion, a luxury car, and a limitless black card in hopes that he will succeed in his future studies and have a smooth and healthy life.”

As I watched my “poor” husband hug his comrade’s widow and son, I called him for the 101st time.

“Henry wants to see you one last time.”

“I’m busy right now, Wendy. Be good with Henry and wait a little while longer.”

When Matthew hung up impatiently, I put down my phone in silence.

I whispered, “Matthew, Henry can no longer wait for you.”

At that moment, I decided that I was not going to wait for him anymore either.

Right after leaving the banquet hall, I received a notice from the hospital telling me that Henry had died.

My intelligent, mature son was only eighteen years old, and he was gone from the world forever. That realization made me cry so much that I almost fainted. Henry just wanted to lessen the financial burden of the family, but he had ended up with a cracked head and a torn-up stomach. He could not even die with a full body intact.

His final request had been to see his own father before dying, but that man was too busy throwing a celebration party for the son of a dead comrade.

I forced myself to stay conscious and went to see my son for the last time. Then, I sat by a river for a long time, until brilliant fireworks lit up the night sky. I instinctively took out my phone to take a picture for Henry since he had always loved fireworks. He had never asked for any, though sensible child that he had been. The fireworks exploded in the sky. They were brilliant and beautiful, and when they connected, they formed the faces of Matthew,