The Man Who Burned Me Alive in My Past Life Was Also Reborn Novel by Fitzgerald Mitchell

Seeing how indifferent he was, I didn’t even want to argue anymore.

The only thing that mattered now was transferring Cody and getting a proper diagnosis and treatment.

The Lucas I saw in front of me wasn’t the same man who used to splash around barefoot in the tiny apartment with our son.

I pushed the office door open hard and headed straight back to the ICU.

As I dialed a familiar number on my phone, my hand shook slightly.

Lucas and I had been married for seven years. For all that time, I’d been cut off from my family.

My parents and brother had begged me not to marry him, but I had stubbornly turned my back on my wealthy family to struggle alongside Lucas in a different city.

Now, the only people who could help me were the ones who had never abandoned me.

When my dad picked up, I could barely get the words out through my sobs.

“Dad, please… save my son. He needs to be transferred to the best hospital in the state…”

My parents didn’t hold a grudge. They immediately contacted the top medical team in the state.

After hanging up, I glanced at the clock on the wall.

The transfer team would arrive in two hours.

Just then, Lucas came rushing over.

“Lola, what are you doing here!?”

“Stop causing trouble and come sign the papers.”

“You already agreed. The whole medical team is waiting.”

I ignored him and stared at the ICU door.

Seeing that I wasn’t responding, Lucas grew impatient.© NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

“Come on, don’t just stand there! Don’t disappoint the doctors!”

I turned to look at him.

“Cody is still in the ICU, and you’re already thinking about harvesting his **n*

“What are you talking about? He’s our son! Do you think I’m some kind of* jerk?”

“His o***ns have failed. His brain is dead. He’ll never wake up again. He’s just a shell of a person now!”

“Donating his or**ns is meaningful. Cody used to watch TV and say he wanted to make his life count. Isn’t this fulfilling his wish?”

Hearing this, rage boiled inside me.

Months ago, Lucas had made us watch a documentary about **n donation.

Cody, being the sweet boy he was, had cried through the whole thing.

I never realized that my son’s kindness and my trust were part of Lucas’s scheme.

With all the strength I could muster, I slapped him hard across the face.

“Get out! I’m not going anywhere, and no one is touching my son! I’m transferring him!”

Lucas stumbled backward, holding his face, looking completely humiliated. He couldn’t help but shout.

“You’re so obsessed with your feelings, you’re keeping Cody alive just to suffer! What’s the point of that?”

“His muscles will waste away, bedsores will form. His whole body will rot while he’s still alive!”

“Why make him go through that kind of agony when you could let him pass peacefully?”

I glared at this man, who had once been my husband.

All his self-righteous words were just a cover for his carefully planned cruelty.

As we stood there, a figure came running up, grabbing Lucas.