She sat on the edge of her son’s bed, clutching his favorite stuffed toy. A dog. Matthew had wanted a puppy for years. She’d convinced her husband that they should get a puppy for Christmas.
But their son would never see another Christmas.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, but it was dark when her husband came into the room.
“Please, honey, come to bed.”
She stared at the man she had once loved. The man who had fathered her only child. The face she had admired, the smile that made her heart flutter, now made her physically ill. She hated him. She had never hated anyone more than the man she had sworn to love, honor, and cherish. The man she had promised to be faithful to, the man she had promised to stand by in everything life threw at them.
She could barely speak, but she said, “You should have been here.”
“Don’t—please don’t.”
Tears flowed, but they didn’t soften her heart. Tears of rage were so very different from tears of grief.
“I can’t look at you. I can’t live with you. It’s your fault our son is gone!”
“You don’t mean that. Please, I’m sorry. I’ll say it as many times—”
“It’ll never be enough! Sorry doesn’t bring Matthew back!”
“I know you’re hurting, honey. I’m hurting, too.” His eyes wandered to the wall of photos. Of Matthew growing up. Baby. Toddler. Kindergarten. And the last photo, second grade. His last school picture.
His voice cracked. “Stay with your mom for a few days. Until—”
“I’m not coming back.”
He reached for her. “I know you’re hurt, but we can survive this together.”
She jumped up before he could touch her. She didn’t know what she’d do if he put his hands on her … if he tried to console her.
She might kill him.
Death would be too good for him. He should suffer for the rest of his life. Suffer because he wasn’t here. Suffer because he had lied, he had cheated, he was a selfish, disgusting excuse for a human being. How had she loved him? Why hadn’t she seen the truth before it was too late?
She ran to the door of Matthew’s room. The anger and hate bubbled up and overshadowed the deep, numbing pain.
She had never realized how much it would hurt to lose her only child, but if she dwelled on it, let the pain in, she would drown in her grief. Instead, she focused on the reasons Matthew had died. The anger that would keep her breathing.
“I hope you suffer for the rest of your miserable life. I hope you know that because of you, my son is dead.”
Through the sobs that shook her husband’s body, he said, “He’s our son. Please—don’t. Don’t do this to me. To us.”
“I hate you.” Those three words changed everything. There was no going back.
She walked out without another word, without looking at her husband, leaving him sobbing in the middle of their dead son’s room.
She hoped he suffered twice as much as she did.
I hate you.
She should have been speaking to a mirror.