I had to leave for a two-month business trip, a necessary evil to secure a promotion and provide a better future for my son, Ethan. I trusted my husband, Mark, to care for him in my absence. Mark had always seemed like a decent guy, a loving stepfather who genuinely cared for Ethan. Or so I thought. Little did I know, my world was about to shatter into a million pieces. I imagined them having fun, maybe going to a ball game or just hanging out playing video games. My heart aches now at how horribly wrong I was. I even considered cutting the trip short. But I knew the importance of this opportunity. And I didn’t want to jeopardize our financial future. Everything felt normal when we spoke on the phone. Two weeks before my scheduled return, I decided to surprise them. I missed them terribly and couldn’t wait to be back home. I imagined Ethan’s face lighting up, Mark giving me a warm embrace. The anticipation fueled my journey home. However, as I approached our house, an eerie silence hung in the air. The usual sounds of laughter and playful banter were absent. I unlocked the front door, my heart pounding with excitement, only to be met with an unsettling scene. The house was a mess. Empty beer bottles littered the coffee table, and an unfamiliar stench filled the air. Where was Ethan? Where was Mark?
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My blood ran cold as I frantically searched for Ethan, calling his name, my voice trembling with fear. No response. Panic set in as I dialed Mark’s number, my hands shaking uncontrollably. He answered, his voice slurred, clearly intoxicated. When I asked about Ethan, his response was a callous, nonchalant remark that sent shivers down my spine. He nonchalantly told me that he had [“KICKED ETHAN OUT”]. He claimed that Ethan was being disrespectful and that he couldn’t handle him anymore. He said it as if he was talking about a misbehaving dog. Not my child.
I was in complete disbelief. I demanded to know where Ethan was, but Mark refused to tell me, his words laced with indifference. I was devastated. I immediately ended the call and continued my desperate search, my mind racing with horrifying possibilities. After hours of searching, I decided to contact the police. After explaining the situation, they informed me there wasn’t much they could do without a missing person’s report. I drove around our neighborhood, desperately trying to find any sign of him. Asking neighbors if they’d seen him. Each shaking head was another dagger to my heart.
Days turned into weeks, and still no sign of Ethan. I was consumed by guilt and despair. How could I have left him in the hands of such a monster? I finally found Ethan, a month after my return. A kind woman from a local shelter contacted me after seeing my posters. He was thin, scared, and emotionally scarred, but alive. He confessed that Mark had threatened him, warning him not to tell me what happened. That’s why he didn’t contact me. My heart broke into a million pieces. The relief of finding him alive was quickly replaced by rage and a burning desire for revenge.
Divorce papers were immediately filed, but that wasn’t enough. I wanted Mark to experience the same fear and helplessness that Ethan had endured. So, I devised a plan. I called my friend, David, who is a police officer. I explained the situation and asked for his help in teaching Mark a lesson. David, being a father himself, was appalled by Mark’s actions and agreed to assist me. He arrived at my house and we set our plan in motion.
We staged a scene where it appeared Mark was being arrested for a crime he didn’t commit. The look of terror on his face as he was handcuffed and taken away was priceless. He screamed and pleaded, claiming his innocence, but no one listened. I watched, with a cold satisfaction, as he was hauled away, finally understanding the consequences of his cruelty. The charges were dropped the next day, but the memory of that night, the fear and humiliation, will forever be etched in his mind. He packed his bags and was gone before the sun rose. He’s gone. And I can start to help my son heal.
