A Heart for a Heart Chapter 04
As she collapsed on the floor, she looked at me in grief as she cried, “Please! I’m sad that Stan is gone too, but why are you doing this to me? What did I do?”
Before I realized what was happening, I felt a big shove behind my back and knocked my head on the tea table.
Although I was bleeding, James didn’t seem to see it as he worriedly helped Sue to her feet. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”
Sue shook her head, but her tears were raining. “My head hurts so much…”
James wheeled on me angrily right then. “What are you doing here?! Just because your son died?! Apologize right now!”
I couldn’t stop my tears as hatred and fury ate at me. “Stan’s your son too! He’s your biological child whom you’ve been a father to for four years!”
James paused and suddenly looked down at the bracelet on his wrist, which felt like it weighed tons.
Even as his hand seemed to twitch, he avoided my eyes and turned, gripping his chest as if his heart was being seized, suffocating him.
That was until Sue sobbed out loud, and he sprang to life again and scooped her up in his arms. “Let’s get you to the hospital.”
He quickly left with Sue, leaving me alone in the spacious, empty room.
–
Later, I reviewed everything, including a voice recording of that confirmation with Sue and the rest of the evidence sent by the private investigator.
In a video, Stan was lying in a pool of his own blood, his tiny hand reaching toward James as he stood nearby.
“Dad… help… It hurts… Dad…”
But James only watched coolly as Stan’s hand ever so slowly dropped on the ground.
I was watching Stan’s face, and could see the initial hope and yearning for his father, followed by confusion and ultimately despair.
Before his death, my son found out about the truth—that his father never loved him.
What could be on Stan’s mind at that time?
Was he wondering if he did something wrong that his father hated him for?
Or did he think he should warn me?
I was shaking in anguish, hatred and every emotion in between, when I heard footsteps behind me.
It was a child around six years old, holding a model airplane and standing at the doorway, asking, “Who are you, ma’am? What are you doing here?”
There was just something about his face and heartbeat that felt so familiar.
I stared at his chest, knowing that my son’s heart was beating under that shirt.
If not for this boy, my son would be alive.
Why should he get to live when my son was dead?
My eyes narrowing coolly, I crouched in front of Nathan even as he stared at me in confusion.
“Good boy, Nathan. Come with me—I’ve got some tasty treats back home.”
–
James was frowning on the way to the hospital, as he kept remembering my tearful outburst.
And each time he did, it felt like a boulder crushing his chest, leaving him in pain and unease.
That was when his phone rang, and I spoke icily like a robot from the other end, “I have Nathan.”
James floored the brakes as he swerved to the curb, his fingers clenching around his steering wheel as a very scary thought occurred to him.
I knew.
