“Anyway, enjoy your wait, Mark. I hope the doctor who sees you is kind.”
I turned and walked away, leaving them there.
“Hey, I’m not finished talking to you!” Mark yelled.
I didn’t look back.
I continued walking toward the staff-only elevator.
I swiped my access card.
The doors opened.
I stepped inside and turned around.
Before the doors closed, I saw Mark still standing there, his face red with rage.
He knew nothing.
He didn’t know he had just walked into the lion’s den.
He didn’t know the disabled child he mocked was in this very building.
He didn’t know his life now rested in our hands.
Inside the rising elevator, I saw my reflection in the mirror.
My eyes were glassy—not with sadness, but with suppressed rage.
Memories of the past came rushing back.
The words “crippled kid” and “dead by now” reopened an old wound that had never healed.
The wound from eighteen years ago.
The wound from that stormy night—the night he shattered my heart and my son’s.
I closed my eyes.
The past replayed like a black-and-white film in my head.
I had to remember it.
I had to remember every detail of that pain.
It was my primary fuel.
It was the reason I was standing here now, with the power to destroy him.
Just you wait, Mark.
You asked where my son is.
You’re going to meet him.
And when you do, you’ll wish the earth would swallow you whole.
The elevator carried me upward, but my mind plunged back into the past.
Eighteen years ago, I was twenty-five.
We lived in a small rented apartment on the outskirts of the city.
The place was damp, paint peeling from the walls, but I tried to make it comfortable for Leo—our son, who was just five.
That night, the rain poured in a torrential downpour.
Lightning flashed, making the windowpanes rattle.
Leo sat on the floor, playing with his worn-out wooden toy car.
His small legs looked different.
His right leg had not developed properly, forcing him to crawl or walk with great difficulty.
The front door slammed open.
Mark was home.
He was soaking wet, but it wasn’t the rain that made his face terrifying.
It was pure hatred.
He didn’t say hello.
He threw his work bag onto a chair and walked to the dining table where I was preparing warm tea.
“I’m sick of it, Eleanor,” he yelled suddenly.
I jumped.
Hot tea spilled on my hand.
“What is it, Mark? Why are you angry the moment you get home?”
“I’m sick of this miserable life. I’m sick of this smelly apartment, and I’m most sick of looking at him.”
Mark pointed at Leo.
Leo, startled, hugged his toy tightly.
He looked at his father with terrified eyes.
“Daddy,” he whimpered softly.
“Don’t call me Daddy,” Mark barked. “I’m ashamed to have a son like you. Look at that leg. It’s disgusting.”
“All my friends at the office have normal kids—kids who can run, who can play soccer. Why did I have to get a defective one?”
My heart shattered.
I ran to hug Leo, covering his ears.
“Enough, Mark. Don’t talk like that in front of him. It’s not Leo’s fault.”
“This is a test from God,” I said, crying.
“A test? This is a curse.”
Mark slammed the glass of tea I had prepared.
Shards scattered across the floor.
“I can’t take it anymore. My salary is gone just paying for his useless therapy. He’s never going to get better, Eleanor. His leg will be twisted forever.”
Mark reached into his wet pants pocket.
He pulled out a crumpled brown envelope and threw it in my face.
“What is this?” I asked, trembling.
“Divorce papers,” he answered coldly. “Sign them. I want us to separate.”
My world collapsed.
“Divorce? But why, Mark? We can talk about this. If it’s about money, I can get a job. I can wash dishes or work in a factory.”
“It’s not just about the money,” Mark cut in.
“I’m getting married again.”
My breath caught.
“Married again?”
“Yes. To Bella. She’s a wealthy widow. She owns the construction supply company I deliver to. She’s beautiful. She’s rich.”
“And most importantly, she can give me a normal child—not a defective product like Leo.”
Defective product.
Those words hit me harder than a physical blow.
How could a father call his own son a defective product?
“You’re cheating on me,” I whispered.
“Call it what you want. I need a future, Eleanor. And my future isn’t with you or your crippled kid.”
“Bella wants me, but she doesn’t want any baggage from the past. So you both have to leave. Leave now.”
I looked at the window.
The thunderstorm was still raging.
“Mark, it’s the middle of the night. It’s pouring. Leo isn’t feeling well. Let us stay for just one night. We’ll leave in the morning.”
Mark shook his head without a shred of compassion.
“No. Bella is coming to pick me up soon. She wants to see this place empty of your junk.”
“Mark. Please.”
I knelt at his feet, throwing away my pride for my son.
“Have pity on Leo. He’s your son, Mark. Your own flesh and blood.”
Mark kicked my shoulder, sending me sprawling.
Leo cried out when he saw me fall.
“Get him out of here. His crying is hurting my ears.”
I got up with what little strength I had left.
It was useless to beg a stone.
Mark was no longer my husband.
He had become a monster.
I went into the bedroom with tears streaming down my face and stuffed a few clothes into a large plastic bag.
We didn’t own a suitcase.
I took the small amount of savings I had hidden under the mattress.
It wasn’t much—maybe enough for food for two days.
I picked up Leo.
He wrapped his arms tightly around my neck, his body trembling with fear.
“Mommy,” Leo whispered, “is Daddy mad? Is Daddy mad because my leg is bad?”
That innocent question tore my heart apart.
I kissed his cheek.
“No, honey. Daddy is just sick. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
“You are a wonderful boy. Your leg is a leg from heaven.”
We walked out of the bedroom.
Mark stood at the front door, smoking casually.
He looked at us with disgust.
“Is that everything? Don’t leave anything behind. I don’t want to keep any garbage.”
I looked into his eyes one last time.
“You’ll regret this, Mark. So help me God—you will regret this.”
Mark snorted.
“Regret getting rid of a parasite? Never. Go on. Go die in the street for all I care.”
He pushed us outside and slammed the door.
The rain drenched us immediately.
Cold pierced to our bones.
I held Leo inside my jacket, trying to shield him from the water.
We stood on the small porch, but Mark opened a window and yelled:
“Don’t shelter there. Get off my property.”