Chapter 2 - The Audacity and The Escape
That night, the doorbell at my house rang at 9 PM.
I opened it to find David standing there, looking perfectly groomed and relaxed.
He strolled past me into the kitchen, opening my fridge like he didn't have a care in the world.
“Clara is driving me crazy tonight,” he sighed, popping open a sparkling water. “The kids won't stop screaming. I just needed a break from all the noise.”
A break.
The audacity of this boy nearly took my breath away.
He needed a break from sitting on the couch while his wife drowned.
I kept my face perfectly calm, masking the absolute fury boiling in my veins.
“Is that so?” I asked quietly.
“Yeah,” he complained. “She's always so miserable lately. Never smiles. Just complains about being tired. Honestly, Mom, I don't know what her problem is. She gets to stay home all day.”
I smiled a cold, tight smile. “Well. Get some rest, David. You look exhausted.”
He missed the sarcasm entirely.
Because by then, I already had a plan. A plan that required precision, timing, and a lot of cash.
The next morning at 8:00 AM sharp, I knocked on Clara’s door.
David had already left for his comfortable office job.
Clara opened the door. She looked even worse than the day before. The baby had been up all night with colic.
“You’re coming with me today,” I told her, stepping inside.
She blinked in utter confusion, holding a half-empty baby bottle.
“What? Mom, I can't. The kids... Tommy has a dentist appointment, the twins need—”
“I already hired help for today,” I said smoothly, stepping aside to reveal two professional, highly-rated nannies I had booked through an elite agency.
Clara stared at them, panic rising in her chest. “But David doesn't like strangers in the house. He says it's my job—”
“This is not up for discussion, Clara,” I interrupted firmly. “David is not here. I am. And you are leaving this house with me right now.”
I gently took the baby bottle from her hand and handed it to one of the nannies.
I grabbed her old, faded coat from the rack and draped it over her shoulders.
I practically had to drag her to my car.
She sat in the passenger seat, her hands trembling. She kept looking back at the house, terrified that the world would stop spinning if she wasn't the one pushing it.
“Breathe,” I told her, starting the engine. “The children will survive. Today is for you.”
She looked out the window, and for the first ten minutes, she cried silent, guilty tears.
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The guilt of a mother taking a single moment to breathe.
It disgusted me that my son had made her feel this way.
