My Corazon

I suspended a five-year-old student named Leo for pushing another child down the stairs. As the head child psychologist at an elite academy, I was used to difficult children, but there was a chilling emptiness in Leo's eyes.

That evening, I was abducted in the faculty parking lot, dragged into a van, and beaten unconscious.

I woke up in a hospital, every inch of my body aching. A kind nurse let me use her phone to call my husband, Franco. When he didn't answer, I opened his social media page, my heart pounding with fear for him.

But he was fine. A new video, posted just thirty minutes ago, showed him in a hospital room, gently peeling an apple for the little boy I had suspended.

"Daddy," Leo whined. "That teacher was mean to me."

My husband's voice, the voice I had loved for a decade, was a soothing murmur. "I know, buddy. Daddy already took care of it. She won't ever bother you again."

The world tilted on its axis. The attack wasn't random. The man who had vowed to protect me forever, my loving husband, had tried to have me killed. For another woman's child. Our entire life was a lie.

Then the police delivered the final blow: our five-year marriage had never been legally registered. As I lay there, broken, I remembered the wedding gift he'd given me—40% of his company. He thought it was a symbol of his ownership.

He was about to find out it was his death sentence.

Chapter 1

The new student, Leo Baxter, was a problem. As the head child psychologist at Northgate Academy, I' d seen my share of difficult children, but Leo was different. He was defiant, with a coldness in his eyes that was unusual for a five-year-old. Today, he' d pushed another child down the stairs.

I sat across from him in my office, the room filled with soft colors and plush toys meant to be calming. He just stared at me, his arms crossed.

"Leo, we don't push people," I said, my voice gentle. "Can you tell me why you did that?"

He said nothing. His silence was a wall. I knew his file. Single mother, Kayleigh Baxter. No father listed. He was a scholarship student, a rare case in a school filled with the children of Silicon Valley's elite.

"You'll be suspended for three days," I told him finally. "I need you to think about how your actions hurt others."

His eyes narrowed. It was a look of pure hatred.

After school, I walked to my car in the faculty lot. The day had been long. I just wanted to go home to my husband, Franco. He always knew how to make everything better.

A white van screeched to a halt beside me. Two men jumped out. Before I could scream, a rough hand covered my mouth. A sharp, chemical smell filled my nose, and the world went dark.

I woke up to suffocating blackness. The air was thick with the smell of gasoline and cheap air freshener. My head throbbed, and my hands were tied behind my back. I was in the trunk of a car. Panic seized me. I kicked and screamed, but the sound was muffled. The car was moving, bouncing over uneven roads.

Every bump sent a wave of pain through my body. My ribs ached. My wrists were raw from the zip ties. I tried to think, tried to fight the terror. Who would do this? A robbery? A random act of violence?

The car stopped. I heard voices, muffled through the metal. Then, the trunk opened. Blinding light flooded in, and I squeezed my eyes shut. I saw the silhouette of a man. He dragged me out and threw me onto the hard, gravel-covered ground.

Pain shot through my shoulder. I tasted blood.

"Please," I begged, my voice a hoarse whisper. "Take whatever you want."

He laughed, a cruel, ugly sound. "We already have."

Another man joined him. They didn't wear masks. They didn't care if I saw their faces. That meant they didn't plan on letting me live. They started kicking me. My head, my stomach, my back. I curled into a ball, trying to protect myself, but it was useless.

A sharp, unbearable pain exploded in my abdomen. It felt like my insides were tearing apart. I screamed, a raw, animal sound of agony. Then, another kick to my head. My vision blurred. The world started to fade into a gray haze.

As my consciousness slipped away, I thought of Franco. My sweet, loving Franco. He would find me. He would save me.

I don' t know how much time passed. I was floating in a sea of pain. Then, a voice. "Hey! Are you okay?"

Someone was gently shaking me. I forced my eyes open. A young man, a hiker by his clothes, was leaning over me. He was on the phone. "Yes, I found her. Off the side of the road on Mount Diablo. She's hurt badly."

Help. I was saved.

The ambulance ride was a blur of hazy lights and muted sounds. My body was a universe of pain. In the emergency room, a nurse kindly helped me use her phone. I had to call Franco. He needed to know I was safe.

I dialed his number. It rang once, then went to voicemail. Strange. He always answered my calls. I tried again. Voicemail. A knot of unease tightened in my gut. I called our home landline. No answer.

"Maybe he's in a meeting," the nurse suggested, trying to soothe me.

I nodded, but the fear wouldn't go away. I opened his social media page. His public profile was filled with pictures of us, of his tech company's successes. It was a carefully curated image of a perfect life.

Then I saw it. A new post, from just thirty minutes ago. It was a video.

The camera was shaky, as if filmed by a child. It was in a hospital room, not unlike the one I was in. Franco was there, his back to the camera. He was peeling an apple, his movements precise and gentle.

And sitting on the bed, propped up by pillows, was a little boy.

It was Leo Baxter.

"Daddy," Leo whined, his voice petulant. "That teacher is so mean. She suspended me."

My heart stopped. Daddy?

Franco turned, and his face filled the screen. It was a face I knew better than my own, a face I had loved for a decade. But the expression on it was one I had never seen directed at anyone but me. It was pure, doting affection.

"I know, buddy," Franco said, his voice a low, soothing murmur. "Don't worry. Daddy already took care of it. She won't ever bother you again."

He handed the apple slice to Leo, and the boy chomped on it happily. "Promise?"

"I promise," Franco said, stroking Leo's hair. "Daddy will always protect you and Mommy."

The world tilted on its axis. My mind refused to process what I was seeing. The attack. The men. She won't ever bother you again. It wasn't random. It was him. Franco did this to me.