After the Divorce, the Ruthless Mafia King Claimed Me and My Son

To pay off Derek’s debts, I took the dirtiest, most exhausting job in the kitchen of our son’s elite preschool: washing dishes.

Hands that once wore multi-million-dollar diamonds were now soaked in icy water every single day, skin burned and rotted by industrial bleach and rubber gloves.

On the preschool's Family Day, I left the kitchen during my break for the first time, wanting to surprise my son.

Around him, other kids were eating artisan cakes brought by their parents. My son, Ian, was curled up in a corner, chewing on a rotting, maggot-infested apple.