“What is that?”
“My son stays with me,” I said. “You don’t come near him.”
She laughed once. Desperate. Ugly. “You think you can cut me out?”
“I already did.”
That was when they led her past us toward the door.
She called my name once. Not Elena. Not darling. My actual name, like using it now might change something.
It didn’t.
I stepped aside and let them take her.
Part 4: The Husband
Back home, Julian sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands.
For ten minutes he said nothing.
The trash can still held four thousand dollars’ worth of white powder. The two unopened tins sat by the sink. The whole room smelled faintly sweet and chemical.
When he finally looked up, his face was gray.
“She’s my mother.”
“And Leo is your son.”
He flinched.
“I didn’t know,” he said.
“I know.”
That wasn’t mercy. It was fact.
He stood and paced. “She manipulated me. She always—”
“Yes.”
He stopped. “You don’t have to say it like that.”
“Like what? Like I noticed?”
That shut him up.
He tried another angle. “I can fix this.”
“No, you can’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
I looked at him across the island we had once picked together like we were building a life instead of a set.
“You threatened to take my child because I threw poison in the trash.”
His mouth opened. Closed.
“I was angry.”
“You were useful to her.”
He sat back down.
I had spent five years shrinking my sentences to fit inside his comfort. I was done.
“I’m filing for divorce,” I said. “Tomorrow.”
He stared at me.
