After I Cut Ties with the Godfather, He Lost His Mind

The day I left the Eugene family, Godfather Byron drove straight through three border checkpoints in a row, yet still failed to stop the car taking me to the airport.

His messages bombarded my phone like a man gone mad.

“What are you throwing a tantrum for?So you ended up unable to walk just because Arin threw a little tantrum?””

“It’s all my fault. You’re my wife, the Godmother of the Eugene family. Can’t you forgive me?”

“They say you’re leaving me. Is that true?”

“Eunice, I was wrong. Please don’t do this to me. Answer the phone—I’m losing my mind.”

The humility bleeding through the screen made my dead heart tremble for just a second.

But that flicker was quickly crushed by four years of bone-deep pain.

For days on end, every time I blocked one number, he called from another.

In the end, I changed my SIM card altogether—cutting off every last connection with the Godfather.

Three years later, I returned to New York for a friend’s birthday.

The moment I stepped out of the airport, I ran into members of the Eugene family.

One of them smiled and said,

“Godmother, after sulking for three years, it’s time you came back and made up with the Godfather, isn’t it?”

“After you left, he never looked at anyone else. He’s been waiting for you.”

……

I felt nothing listening to those words.

Because during the four years I was married to Byron, I had been sick for all four.

In the fourth year, sudden neurological issues caused me to fall and severely injure my leg. Not only was my dream of dancing shattered—I couldn’t even walk normally without assistance.

When illness reduced me to a miserable wreck, Byron did stay by my side, barely sleeping.

Until I heard that a renowned surgeon was visiting New York. For the first time in a long while, hope ignited in my despair.

I wanted Byron to take me, but seeing how busy he was, I went alone for a consultation.

After reviewing the thick stack of medical records I brought, the doctor frowned.

“Ms. Eunice, according to your reports, your inability to stand isn’t caused by neurological damage.”

“On the contrary—it’s the result of early use of psychiatric medication that impaired your judgment, leading to a fall. After that, prolonged use of recovery-inhibiting drugs, combined with improper rehabilitation.”

His finger tapped the attending physician’s signature on the top report—meaningfully.

“I suggest you change doctors. Or better yet, switch hospitals entirely.”

I stared at the name Arin as if struck by lightning.

She was the daughter of my father-in-law’s late friend—Byron’s adopted sister, with no blood relation.

For four years, she had treated me at Byron’s request.

My vision went black. I staggered out of the clinic and headed straight for Byron’s office.

His office was in a downtown administrative building.

Just as I was about to go in, I overheard an older man’s voice at the door.

“If the Godmother keeps taking Arin’s medication, she may never stand again. Godfather, are you really going to do this—for Arin?”

Byron replied, sounding helpless.

“Arin must’ve seen me staying with Eunice during rehab and got jealous.Use it. Even if Eunice never walks again, I’ll support her for life. I’m the Godfather—she’s the Godmother. I can protect her.”

He paused, as if justifying himself.

“I love Eunice. I would never let anything truly happen to her.”

“When I was six, I promised Arin I’d marry her someday. But I fell in love with Eunice at first sight—I couldn’t keep my promise. I already owe Arin.”

“As long as she calms down, whatever treatment plan she wants, I’ll follow it.”

His words were knives, slicing my heart to shreds.

I had thought I was just unlucky. Injured, medicated for so long, rehabilitating endlessly—only getting worse.

Dragging Byron down. Troubling Arin.

But it turned out everything was orchestrated by the two of them.

I shoved the door open.

The moment our eyes met, scalding tears poured down.

“Why?” I demanded.

Byron froze—then quickly regained his composure.

“Eunice, you shouldn’t have listened. Knowing this won’t help your recovery.”

“And with me here, even if you become disabled, you’ll never suffer.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

My dance career ruined. My legs useless. Walking a struggle.

From a prodigy to a cripple—and he brushed it off so lightly?

I said nothing. I turned instinctively to leave.

I had no doubt—Byron would sacrifice everything I had, even my life, for his so-called promise.

But as I turned, Jack blocked my path.

“Stop making trouble, Eunice. The whole Eugene family knows Arin is your doctor. If you suddenly transfer hospitals, people will talk about her.”

“Oh—and leave those test results behind. They’d get Arin disciplined and ruin her reputation.”

Jack lunged for the files. I struggled desperately.

No matter how I begged, Byron remained unmoved—he even signaled Jack to hurry.

When I refused to let go, Jack pried my fingers apart one by one.

The sound of cracking bones echoed with my screams. Drugged for years, my bones hadn’t healed properly.

Byron took the reports and casually fed them into the shredder.

Seeing me injured, afraid of exposure, he began treating my wounds.

His movements were rough—brutal as he forced my broken fingers back into place.

Then he placed white pills in my twisted palm—pain suppressants that weakened the body—and motioned for me to swallow.

I looked up, meeting the disgust he failed to hide.

My chest felt stuffed with cotton—so full I could barely breathe.

When I didn’t move, he shoved the pills into my mouth.

I swallowed on instinct.

So this is love, I thought in despair.

That night, I fell into a coma from the drugs.

After half a day of emergency treatment and another day in ICU, I woke up—with a new surgical scar on my leg.

Small, yet carved deep into my heart.

I closed my eyes and called Byron’s grandfather—former Godfather Paddy.

“Grandpa Paddy,” I said hoarsely but calmly.

“I accept your offer. I’ll divorce Byron—and leave him forever.”