Chapter Four

December brought New York its first snowfall of the year.

Fine snowflakes landed on my eyelashes, instantly melting into icy droplets, much like the half-tear that slid down Lily's cheek the day she died.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

It was a new, anonymous phone I'd bought, and the only person who knew this number and had added it to my whitelist was Eleanor.

I took out my phone; a new message popped up on the screen, along with a thumbnail of an attached image.

It was a "VIP Supreme Frozen Embryo Thawing and Implantation Appointment" from a top-tier private fertility center in Manhattan, New York.

Below is a message from Eleanor:

"Arthur, I'll be home after I finish these next few days. Honey, don't be sad. I know you've been so depressed these past five years, and I was devastated by Lily's death. But this weekend is our tenth wedding anniversary, and I have a surprise for you. I've booked an appointment at the fertility center; we'll go thaw one of those perfect embryos this weekend. Soon, a brand new, healthy child will be with you, and our family will be whole again. I love you."

I stood at the crowded arrival gate, surrounded by countless smiling faces of reunions. I stared intently at the message on the screen, feeling as if all the blood in my body had been drained and then poured into liquid nitrogen at sub-zero temperatures.

I involuntarily let out a suppressed, dry laugh, like a broken bellows. As I laughed, a strong, metallic taste of blood rose in my throat.

This was the wife I once loved so deeply, the biological mother of my daughter.

In her world, or rather, in the eyes of those capitalists and powerful figures who lord over ordinary people, what did life truly mean?

Was it just a credit card that could be overdrawn? Is she a machine whose parts can be replaced at any time?

Lily was buried less than forty-eight hours ago! The soil on her tombstone is still being washed by the cold rain, and her heart, cruelly dug out, is still beating in that devil's chest!

And in Eleanor's eyes, all this pain, betrayal, and murder can be resolved as easily as returning an unsatisfactory item in a store—"Press the refresh button and get a brand new one to keep you company."

What did she take my deep-seated fatherly love for Lily for? Did she take it for a pet-keeping obsession that can be filled with any breathing piece of flesh?!

"Irreplaceable... my Lily is irreplaceable!" I muttered through gritted teeth, my eyes sore they almost burst.

I recalled Lily, six years old , before her car accident, holding my hand and asking in her childish voice, "Daddy, will you want another little brother or sister?"

I lifted her high above my head and smiled, telling her, "Daddy only needs Lily. Lily is Daddy's only priceless treasure in this world."

But this priceless treasure was shattered by Eleanor herself. Now, this executioner actually wants to use another so-called "new life" to erase the last trace of Lily's existence in this family? Wants to use the cries of a new child to cover up Lily's screams before her death?

Dream on.

Eleanor, you don't deserve it. You don't deserve Lily, and you don't deserve to call yourself "mother" anymore.

I hailed a yellow taxi.

"Fifth Avenue, Manhattan, Coleman Fertility Center."

Twenty minutes later, my personal lawyer, Howard, was already waiting for me in the lobby of the fertility center. He was an old friend who fought alongside me on Wall Street, and one of the few people who knew about my past methods.

“Arthur, I’ve already prepared the paperwork.” Howard handed me a plain black briefcase, a hint of worry in his eyes. “Are you sure you want to go this far? The destruction of jointly bred fertilized eggs is legally irreversible. Once you exercise your joint veto, they will be completely erased.”

I took the briefcase and dusted it off.

“Let’s go.” I didn’t answer him, but my actions spoke volumes.

The Coleman Fertility Center truly lived up to its reputation as a top-tier hospital for the wealthy and powerful. The air was filled with the aroma of fine white tea, and the carpets were so soft they swallowed every step. Every wall was adorned with heartwarming photos of smiling babies, so stark that they made my stomach churn again.

Dr. Miller, the center’s director, personally greeted us in the VIP office.

“Mr. Herman, regarding the appointment your wife sent…” Dr. Miller, flipping through the computer records, said with a professional smile, “Ms. Eleanor’s appointment is for this weekend. But because thawing and viability testing require advance preparation, you’re here today to sign the informed consent form, right?”

He placed an elegant booklet on the table.

I sat down opposite Dr. Miller, leaning slightly forward, my hands crossed on the table.

“No. I’m here to exercise my veto power.” I stared into his blue eyes, my voice as calm as a thousand-year-old frozen lake, “I demand, immediately, in your presence, the destruction of the five frozen embryos stored here, belonging to Eleanor Herman and me.”

Dr. Miller’s smile froze instantly. He looked at me as if I were a madman, even nervously adjusting his glasses.

“Destroy…destroy? Mr. Herman, are you joking? Those are five super fertilized eggs that passed the highest level of genetic screening and were rated A+! Do you know how much effort you put into cultivating them?”

“As a co-signatory to the contract, my client, under Section 3 of the New York State Assisted Reproduction Act, has the unilateral right to terminate the freezing and destruction at any time.” Howard, expressionless, pushed a thick legal document in front of Dr. Miller. “You don’t need to ask why; you just need to execute my client’s legal will. If you refuse, or attempt to notify the other party to obstruct, we will bring not only a lawyer’s letter, but also a court-ordered injunction.”

Cold sweat beaded on Dr. Miller’s forehead. He knew Eleanor was not someone to be trifled with, but he also knew that the law was clearly written in black and white. If the man insisted on destruction, the hospital had to comply unconditionally to prevent forced reproduction.

“Mr. Herman…” Dr. Miller tried one last time. Looking at my red-rimmed eyes, he assumed I was acting out of spite because of the loss of my daughter. “I heard you just lost your daughter. I deeply sympathize. But precisely because of that, shouldn’t you preserve these hopes?”

“Hope?”

I stared at him intently, my gaze sharp as a knife, forcing Dr. Miller to swallow his words.

“That’s a reward for the murderer, a betrayal of my daughter,” I said, each word distinct. “Call the doctor, get the paperwork done. I just want to see these things disappear completely from this world.”

Half an hour later, under the supervision of my lawyer and the hospital’s legal department, I signed all the complicated waivers and authorizations.

I changed into sterile clothing and was granted access to the deepest underground cryogenic storage facility.

It resembled an array of hibernation pods from a science fiction movie. Rows of enormous stainless steel liquid nitrogen tanks loomed in the white, cold mist.

The lab technician walked to the storage tank numbered “V-052,” glanced at me, seemingly waiting for my final change of heart.

I watched him coldly through the glass observation window.

"Execute."

With the command, the robotic arm slowly pulled out a frost-covered metal box. Inside were five incredibly tiny cryotubes, containing all of Eleanor's maternal fantasies, the tools she tried to use to bind me, to fill the emptiness in her soul.

I watched without blinking as the lab technician placed the cryotubes into the adjacent medical termination device.

"Beep—"

Room-temperature saline solution mixed with an inactivating agent was injected. The tiny ice crystals on the surface of the cryotubes melted within seconds, turning into a few meaningless drops of water.

The red indicator light on the control panel went out.

This meant that the five so-called "perfect, healthy" fertilized eggs had completely disintegrated their internal cellular structure, losing any possibility of developing into life.

Gone.

Eleanor would never again have a child in this world, a child with half my blood.

Lily's place, in this dilapidated home, was sealed away by me in the bloodiest and most resolute way, with an irreplaceable, permanent seal.

“Mr. Herman.” A nurse approached cautiously, handing me a yellow slip automatically printed by a machine, stamped with the reproductive center’s red disposal seal.

I took it.

The paper was thin and light. At the very top, a line of cold, bold black text was printed:

[Medical Biochemical Waste Disposal Receipt].

Biochemical waste.

What an ironic, yet apt, term.

That arrogant, self-important, heartless woman who thought she could control everything with money and her womb, the backup plan she meticulously crafted for our so-called “future,” was ultimately, under the definition of law and medicine, nothing more than a pile of worthless biochemical garbage. Just like my Lily, in her eyes, she was merely an organ container that could be casually tossed into the trash can.

“Thank you. This is exactly what I wanted.”

I carefully folded the yellow receipt twice, treating it like a rare treasure, and placed it in the inside pocket of my coat, close to my heart.

Stepping out of the Coman Reproductive Center, the snow in New York was falling even harder. The streets were blanketed in snowflakes, concealing all the filth and grime.

I pulled out my anonymous phone and opened the message Eleanor had sent. The things

she cared about most in this world were her first love, her vast and seemingly invincible conglomerate, and finally, the "control of her family" that she used to maintain her perfect life.

Now, I had completely severed the financial chain of her conglomerate, leaving it a debt-ridden shell; I had personally turned her power as a mother into a mere "waste disposal receipt" in my pocket. Her proud sense of control was being slowly and painfully stripped away.

Facing the swirling snowflakes, I took a deep breath of the icy air and typed a reply on the screen:

"Darling, I'm looking forward to this weekend. I've prepared an anniversary gift for you that you'll never expect."

The message was sent successfully.

I turned off my phone and casually tossed it into a snow-covered sewer grate by the roadside. I watched it plunge completely into the dark abyss.

The snow is so clean. I should go prepare that "haute couture blind box" filled with endless cold. Lily, Daddy hasn't broken his promise. No one in this world can replace you. That wicked woman will never hear "Mom" again in her life.