My Husband Buried Our Kids. So I Buried His Legacy. Fair Trade. Chapter 08
The kids’ birthday came. I decorated the whole house.
Balloons. Banners. Shield props. One whole wall covered in Avengers posters.
It was their biggest wish—a Marvel-themed birthday party. They’d been asking for years.
But Lucian shut it down every time.
“What’s with all the decorations? Just eat cake.”
And even with the cake, he barely stuck around. Always busy. Never had time.
But he had time to spend a whole day at Disneyland with Mira.
I sat on the living room floor. Two white urns in front of me. A cake beside them, with a single candle shaped like a seven.
I lit it. Eyes red. Sang Happy Birthday. Once. Then again.
Then my phone rang. The management company. Voice was urgent.
“Elara, something’s happening. Check online. Now.”
I opened Lucian’s personal account. He was in a suit. Mira stood next to him. Both stone-faced.
“Though Elara Sinclair is my wife—” he said to the camera. “—I can’t sit back and watch her destroy this hospital.”
“After the kids’ surgery failed, she became paranoid. She’s convinced Mira and I killed her children.”
“She’s spreading lies, smearing Mira’s reputation. Any doctor who spoke up for us got shipped off to Africa. Anyone who refused, she demanded a massive payout.”
“So I’ve joined forces with the affected doctors. We’re striking.”
“No surgeries until Elara issues a public apology and compensates us for the damage. And—” He paused.
“She has to get on her knees and apologize to Mira in person.”
The camera cut to Mira. Eyes red. Lip trembling.
“Elara, please stop slandering me. Don’t send me to Africa. I’m all my parents have.”
I scrolled down. The comments were flooded with patients and their families. Begging me to give in.
[My dad’s heart surgery can’t wait any longer! Please!]
[My daughter’s only hope is Dr. Drake—Elara, I’m on my knees here. Just apologize.]
My grip on the phone tightened. Knuckles white.
The phone rang. Lucian.
“Elara.” His voice was laced with threat. “You don’t want to destroy your reputation, do you?”
I screamed into the phone. “YOU BASTARD! Lucian Drake, you absolute BASTARD!”
“Did I not give them a choice?! The contract’s right there—three years in Africa, or pay back the full training cost! They made their choice!
“What gives them the right to break it and go on strike?! And dragging patients into this?”
“You killed my sons—and now you want to kill more people?!”
“How dare you call yourself a doctor?! How dare you call yourself a HUMAN BEING?!”