My Son's Death, His Cruel Betrayal

tal

aybe he would just disappear, like I wanted to. His prese

," he said, his voice softer now, a hint of we

. "What were you dreaming about?" he asked, his voi

my gut. It was a physical pain, sharp and immediate. I opened m

constructed composure cracking. He pulled me into a fier

hick with what sounded like genuine gri

mmed. "We can have another child, Krystal," he said, his voice

searing pain, the gaping hole in my soul? He didn' t understand. He never understood. He couldn't even see the horror of his

e flat, devoid of emotion. I pulled away from

ey... she's feeling unwell," he mumbled, fidgeting with the cuff of his shirt. "He

al bed, recovering from a brutal assault instigated by his own mother, and he was asking me to make soup

ted realization. "No, no, of course not, Krystal," he quickly corrected, his voice a little to

at soup for him, for his high-stress job, knowing he suffered from stomach issues. I' d done it even when I was e

voice hollow. "Get

edients, his eyes lingered on my hand, now steady and precise. He used to say my han

th a strange, aching sorrow. He remembered how I used to promise him forever, how my love for him was an unshakeable fortress. Now, that fortres

the doorway. "Hailey is asking for you

me. "I'll be right back, Krystal," he repeated

steps heavy. I heard him quickly a

in, and drifted into

ut, pain flaring in my elbow, as I tumbled f

g rage I had never heard directed at me. It was cold, cutting, like a blad

e, unadulterated hatred. He grabbed the front of my hospita

led, his eyes wide and wild. "Did