My 5-year-old, Toby, had been home with a fever, so I left him napping with my new husband whom I’ve been married to for a month. A few hours into my shift, my phone rang.
It was Toby.
“MOMMY… NEW DAD WOKE UP…
BUT HE’S ACTING WEIRD.”
I blinked. “Honey, what do you mean?”
But he just repeated it, sounding scared. That raw fear in his voice, it clawed at me. I tried calling my husband. No answer. Once. Twice. Just voicemail. My heart started to pound a frantic, sickening rhythm against my ribs. My hands were shaking so bad I almost dropped the phone.
I drove home like a maniac. Every traffic light was a personal insult, every car in front of me a deliberate obstruction. Please, let them be okay. Please let it just be a misunderstanding. I pictured him collapsed, or Toby hurt. My mind raced through every horror scenario.
I rushed inside. The house was silent. A cold, heavy silence that felt wrong. The soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound.
I called their names. “Honey? Toby?” No response. Just the echo of my own panicked voice.
Then I saw Toby sitting in the living room, eyes wide. He was on the floor, huddled against the sofa, clutching his favourite stuffed animal. His fever-flushed cheeks were streaked with tears, but he wasn’t crying anymore. He was just… staring. Staring at the closed door of the master bedroom.
“Baby, what is it? Where is he?” I scooped him up, pressing his warm body against mine, burying my face in his hair, just breathing him in. He’s safe. Thank god he’s safe. He just pointed, a tiny, trembling finger aimed at the door.
My legs felt like lead. Every instinct screamed at me to turn and run, but Toby was here, and I had to know. I tiptoed to the door, pushing it open just a crack. The light was off, but a blue glow flickered from his phone screen, illuminating his face. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, headphones in, talking quietly. Talking? Who would he be talking to?
I heard bits and pieces. “No, no, she won’t suspect a thing… the insurance is almost updated… yeah, the kid’s fever worked perfectly… just a little longer, then we’re free and clear.”
My breath hitched. My world tilted. What was he saying? The quiet, confident tone was so unlike the loving man I thought I knew. I felt a cold dread seep into my bones, a horrifying suspicion taking root. I pushed the door open further, stepping inside.
He looked up, startled, pulling the headphones out. His face was a mask of panic that quickly morphed into a forced smile. “Hey, babe! You’re home early. Everything okay?”
Toby, still in my arms, whimpered. He pointed again, this time at my husband. “MOMMY… HE SAID WE DON’T NEED YOU ANYMORE.”
The air left my lungs in a ragged gasp. I felt a visceral chill, far colder than any fever. My husband’s forced smile vanished, replaced by a look of sheer, calculating terror. The blue light from his phone cast long, dancing shadows across his face, revealing a stranger, a monster I’d brought into my home. My five-year-old, feverish and scared, had just unveiled a truth so BRUTAL, so DEVASTATING, it shattered my entire reality into a million irreparable pieces. He married me for my life insurance. He was planning… to get rid of me. The “weird” wasn’t a sickness. It was PURE EVIL.
