His Mistress’ Birthday, His Last Warning

I woke to the sight of a five-year-old, battered boy—my son.

Alaric Stroud, the man who had confessed his love to me just yesterday, was now my husband of six years. Yet, in that moment, I hadn’t fully grasped the twisted reality of it all.

He called.

“I’m spending my birthday with Tahlia today. Even if you beat my son to death, I won’t come back.”

I didn’t flinch. “Stop your childish tricks and behave.”

Before me, my son—wounded and trembling—shuffled forward. He held a cane out to me with shaky hands.

“Mom… hit me. I’m not afraid of the pain.”