My 7-year-old son locked me out on the balcony in the 109-degree heat just so he could steal money and give it to My husband's old flame, Pamela Collins.

He said he needed the money to cure her cat.

By the time Raymond and Timothy came back to let me out, I was already barely hanging on.

Luckily, a neighbor found me in time and rushed me to the hospital.

I survived, but when I woke up, still simmering with rage and waiting for an explanation from Timothy, all he did was pout and say, without a trace of remorse.

"Mom knew that cat was Pamela's emotional support, but she wouldn't let Dad and me use the family's money to save it, I didn't have a choice. Plus, I only left her out there for a little while, I didn't know she was that weak, some heat could kill her."

Raymond chimed in, agreeing, "Maybe you should listen to Timothy next time. Stop being so petty. Good deeds bring good rewards"

But the money they took was the savings I had been putting away for Timothy's tuition...

I've had enough of this family. If Raymond and Timothy wanna waste everything on Pamela's endless needs, then be it.

I discharged myself the day before Raymond and Timothy were supposed to pick me up, and I cut off all contact with them.

*****

The next morning, when I woke up in the hospital, the room was empty, just me.

It was as if the entire world had abandoned me.

It wasn't far from the truth.

Right after I got out of the ICU, Raymond took Timothy and left.

Four years of my hard-earned savings were gone just like that.

Spent by Timothy to save Pamela's hairless cat that didn't even seem that sick.

What could've been handled at a small clinic for a few dozen dollars, Timothy took my money all the way to the most expensive animal hospital in the city.

A nurse came in and asked, "Do you need a caregiver? Why isn't anyone from your family here?"

I just nodded.

I had been in the hospital for two days, and Raymond and Timothy had only visited once.

And that one time, they both blamed me for being exposed to the scorching heat on the balcony, saying it was all my own fault.

It was my fault for not being a good person and for not using our money to save Pamela's emotional support cat.

They were busy pampering that cat right now.

As I thought about it, my phone buzzed with a notification. Pamela had posted a new update.

I couldn't help myself. Then I clicked on it.

In the video, the three of them were at the most expensive pet hospital in the city.

Pamela stood beside Raymond, handing a man tools as he carefully washed her cat.

That man was my husband, Raymond.

My son, Timothy, was feeding Pamela sliced fruit as if she were a queen.

The three of them looked like a picture-perfect family.

Raymond's face showed no signs of disgust as he tenderly bathed Pamela's cat.

I once had a cat, too.

It had been with me for seven years, and when I married Raymond, I brought it into our new home.

But because Raymond couldn't stand cats, I even bought a cage to keep it confined.

Then how did Raymond repay me?

When I was three-month pregnant, he threw my cat off the 30th floor while I was doing grocery shopping.

He even righteously lectured me. "You're pregnant now! Pets aren't good for the baby! You're not a child anymore. Stop being so selfish! Besides, I really hate cats!"

But it wasn't cats he hated.

It was me. He hated me.

I later found out the real reason he threw my cat out.

Pamela was coming back from abroad, and she was allergic to cat fur.

He had used the excuse of our unborn child to cruelly kill my cat for her.

In the video, when Pamela bent down to eat the fruit Timothy offered her, her large, flashy earrings accidentally scratched Timothy's hand, causing it to bleed.

For a brief moment, I was curious. I wondered what Pamela's reaction would be when faced with an angry Timothy.

I was curious if she would be able to keep up her acting.

Because a year ago, my son, in his playful mischief, accidentally bumped into my earring while lying on me.

He forcibly tore my earring off my ear.

My earlobe festered for a week because of it.

He also demanded that I never wear any jewelry again.

But I was so wrong about it.

Instead of getting angry, Timothy comforted Pamela.

"It's okay! Just a tiny cut. It'll heal in no time!"

He looked like he was genuinely afraid of hurting Pamela's feelings.

A shop assistant, handing them a band-aid, interrupted, "How adorable! You really love your mom."

Timothy's face darkened. "She's not my mom!"