I Dropped His Dying Mom At His Wedding novel Chapter 4

next morning, dawn had just broken.

Gray morning light filtered through the van window, falling on my face. I kept awake all night.

The van pulled up at the entrance of Tristian’s military camp.

The tall, imposing gateposts, the fluttering national flag, and the sentries standing guard at the gate all exuded an air of solemnity.

I paid the fare, then worked with the driver to heave Emilie’s hospital bed out of the van. We pushed it over to the guard room window.

The on–duty sentry tensed up immediately, stepping over to question us.

“Madam, what can I do for you?” His eyes were sharp, sweeping over Emilie on the bed and me.

I pulled my ID card and the now–invalid military dependent certificate, which I’d prepared beforehand, from my pocket and handed them over.

“Hello, my name is Christina Steele. I’m here to see Lieutenant Tristian Kent of your unit. He’s my… family. It’s an emergency.”

When I said “family,” there was a faint note of self–mockery in my voice.

The guard checked my ID, then glanced at the frail Emilie on the bed, looking troubled.

“His family? But… he just registered for marriage today and is on wedding leave.”

I sneered inwardly. So it was true. He indeed married someone else.

I feigned surprise and urgency. “Married? How is that possible? Then we have to see him! This is his mother. She’s seriously ill, and there’s a crisis at home. I can’t handle it alone. He has to come

back!”

My acting must have been convincing, and Emilie did look truly unwell. The guard didn’t dare to delay, immediately making a call inside to report the situation.

After waiting for about twenty minutes, we were allowed in and told to wait in the reception

room.

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10:46

The reception room wasn’t large. Its windows were clean, and on the wall hung a slogan: “Be All You Can Be.”

I pushed Emilie’s hospital bed to the most prominent spot in the center of the room, then dragged a chair over and sat quietly beside it.

I was waiting for my ex–husband and his new wife.

At exactly nine o’clock, the reception room door was pushed open.

Tristian wore a crisp officer’s uniform, the rank insignia on his shoulders glinting in the morning light.

Standing tall with a handsome face, he embodied the confident, high–spirited soldier in every

way.

Next to him was a beautiful young woman.

She had on a stylish red dress, her makeup flawless, and her face was lit up with unhidden shyness and joy.

It was Megan Owen.

They walked in chatting and laughing. Their sweetness was so sharp it stung my eyes.

But when their gazes landed on me and the hospital bed behind me, the smiles froze on their faces instantly.

Tristian’s expression was the most dramatic. In just a few seconds, his triumphant look turned livid.

“Christina!”

He ground my name out between his teeth.

He strode over quickly, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper with anger and embarrassment.

“Are you out of your mind? Why did you bring Mom here?”

I looked up, meeting his fiery glare with a calm face. A cold smile even tugged at my lips.

I didn’t answer his question. Instead, I pulled a sheet of paper from the cloth bag slung over my shoulder.

I slapped it down on the table in front of him.

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It was a copy of his new marriage certificate, still stinging me.

The photo on it was of him and Megan, the woman standing right beside him.

“Tristian, you’re remarried now. Congratulations.”

I spoke slowly, every word clear. “Now, as a son, please fulfill your duty to support your own mother.”

Tristian’s pupils contracted sharply, his eyes widening in disbelief, as if he were seeing me for the first time.

Megan leaned over to glance at the paper.

When she saw her own name and photo on the marriage certificate, her pretty face flushed scarlet before blanching to a deathly pale.

The hand she’d curled around Tristian’s arm tightened instinctively.

Tristian snatched the copy, gripping so hard he nearly crumpled the paper.

He glared at me, his eyes blazing with threats and warnings, and his voice dropped to a guttural growl, like a trapped beast squeezing sound from its throat.

“What the hell do you want?”

“What do I want?”

I finally stood up, my gaze locking straight onto his. In that moment, all the grievances and rage that had simmered in me for days burst forth, finding a raw, unyielding outlet.

“I want to ask you what you wanted! Tristian, you divorced me behind my back, then got married to another woman so soon. What do you take me for? And what do you take our family for?”

My voice wasn’t loud, but every word landed like a hammer on their consciences.

“You kept cashing my military dependent allowance every month, acting like I was dead and gone! You dumped your paralyzed, helpless mother on me, your ex–wife, like she was a bag of trash!

“Now you’re newly married with a beautiful wife. Shouldn’t you take your mother back and let your glamorous new wife do her filial duty?”

The second I finished, Megan snapped.

“What did she say? Divorce? Allowance?”

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10:47 D

She shrieked at Tristian. Her perfect face was contorting with shock and fury.

Her eyes flicked over my plain, worn clothes, then to the frail, sickly Emilie on the hospital bed, before finally boring into Tristian.

It clicked for her in an instant.

She’d thought she was marrying a promising young officer with a bright future, never a shameless man who’d abandoned his wife and shirked responsibility for his own mother.

She clung to her own marriage certificate copy. Her knuckles turned pale with the force of her grip, her body trembling faintly with rage.

I watched the cracks split open between them, watched their perfect happiness crumble. And a twisted, vengeful pleasure flooded me.

I said to myself, “Tristian, Megan, this is just the start.

“You haven’t felt real misery yet.‘

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