Chapter 5
I watched his face twist–horror, disbelief, desperation all crashing together.
A sick kind of satisfaction hit me. He got it. He just couldn’t handle it.
+25 Bonus
I raised a brow, shoulders shaking with laughter. Couldn’t help twisting the knife.
“Like you see–this kid? His own dad didn’t even want him. So what was the point?”
I paused.
Then I let it rip, every word sharp and cold through clenched teeth.
“Of course I got rid of it.”
Quentin froze like he’d taken a bolt straight to the chest.
His face twitched. Fear lit up his eyes.
His voice cracked, rusty. “That was our kid. How could you–how could you do that? We used to dream about this. We were so hyped to be parents. Why didn’t you even tell me?”
Seven years.
Over two thousand nights of being his.
I used to dream up our wedding, our babies. Had a name for the kid tucked away. Saw us in the garden, tiny fingers in mine.
He’d be the tough–love dad doing math problems with the kid at the table.
I’d handle the rest, every scraped knee and bedtime story.
We fought over how to raise them–me, all about ambition; him, just wanting happy and healthy.
Our first real fight was over that. Loud. Messy. Real.
Now? Watching him lose it, eyes bloodshot, fists clenched-
I feit nothing. Just sick.
“You don’t get to talk about him, Quentin. That baby was doomed from day one. Nobody wanted him. Why bring him here just to suffer?”
I stepped forward, slow and silent, like something already gone.
Blood slid down my legs, thick and warm, leaving smeared footprints behind–little bits of what used to be.
I stopped inches from him. My voice? Empty. “Even his dad wouldn’t claim him. So tell me who was actually waiting for him?”
