From Ashes To Adored Bride's Happiness

The night I reached the pinnacle of my career as a concert pianist, my husband was in a car with his mistress. Their argument caused the crash that crushed my hands, ending my future in an instant.

In the hospital, my adopted daughter, Kennedy, stood over my bed and blamed me.

"This is all your fault," she whispered, her eyes cold.

Then, his mistress arrived with a bouquet of lilies, knowing I was deathly allergic. As I suffocated, my husband watched with annoyance while my daughter accused me of faking it.

"Stop pretending, Mom. Aunt Christine's flowers are beautiful."