My Son's Death, His Cruel Betrayal

tal

g our son. Again. Just like his mother, just like his relatives. T

care to argue. I didn't care to defend myself. It was too

tightening on my gown. "

ou' re in pain, and you need a target. If that ta

equences came, or when he needed to deflect, I was always the convenient scapegoat. He wouldn't truly believe I' d poison someone. He just needed to lash out. He n

eemed to choke him. He let go of my gown,

oice dropping, tinged with a raw, desperate confusio

"I have nothing

built brick by brick. His heart, I could almost feel it, began to t

his voice cracking. "For Leo. We should keep

eyes remained closed. His

door, tentative. "Ms. Young is aski

nt!" he snapped. Then he turned to me, his voice softening again, though it felt lik

ind my eyelids. The sheer agony he must have felt, alone in the cold water. My heart felt torn to

tal, his hand on my back, a picture of a devoted husband. We drove home in silence,

f lilies and sorrow hung heavy in the air. The living room had been transfor

I approached the coffin, a figure lunged at me. Jonathan'

d striking my face, then my chest. "Y

sation hit me harder than the physical pain. It wasn't jus

ine. A cold understanding settled over me. This wasn't just his mother's grie

raspy. "Get out of my son's house

d her venom, surged forward. Hands clawed at me, pushing, hit

hug me tight, now spat on me. Another, a man who once helped me fix a l

here!" someone yelled. "G

y threw me onto the cold, damp lawn, slamming the door shut behind me. I lay th